


To Follow Fate

by storylip



Series: To Follow Fate... Or Not [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Nishigori Takeshi, Alpha Victor Nikiforov, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Beta Nishigori Yuko, M/M, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2018-09-14 09:18:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9173212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storylip/pseuds/storylip
Summary: If finding your true mate were easy, then everyone would do it. For Yuuri, it would change his world forever. Omega!Yuuri, Alpha!Victor





	1. Chapter 1

So much Eros, that me, a man could get pregnant!

If there were truer words…

* * *

 

Watching Victor Nikiforov skate was undefinable. From the first moment Yuuri saw the gorgeous and elegant figure skater on television, he knew. Victor was _his_ Alpha. It wasn't in the shallow way most people gushed over the international sex symbol or swooned at his batted eyelashes or flirting wink, even if Victor was 16 years old. This was instinctual, raw and deep. It was a brutal burn, an indelible pull and pure unadulterated joy. He just didn't know what it meant yet.

Then Yuuri's world was blurring at the seams. One minute, he was watching Victor while talking with Yuko and being ignored by Nishigori, and the next, he was sweltering, thrumming. His muscles contracted and his skin felt swollen, both too tight and stretched too thin. His eyes widened as the world spun out of reach, Victor's face in the center of the kaleidoscope of colors. Yuuri could hear Yuko's cries as she tried to pull Nishigori off of him before the bully could bite him, while he felt hollow and empty and wanting. The scuffle above him was punctuated by sharp snaps of teeth and low, yet young, growls.

Burning. Yuuri was burning. His fingers and toes, too engorged. The pounding of his blood through his head felt like it might both simultaneously implode and burst. Copper filled his mouth as he bit his tongue as he scented Nishigori's pungent need. It scared him. He could feel the indents on his shoulders as someone's fingers gripped him, nearly breaking skin, and the impact when that pressure was pushed against him, slamming him into the floor. He couldn't see anything anymore; he'd closed his eyes at some point, he realized. Not that he could concentrate on that. His muscles ached as he curled into a ball, his hands instinctually covering his nape. What was happening?!

A sharp pain stabbed his neck, and a chill chased the burning under his skin. His sense of his surroundings faded into a blissful lull of darkness.

When Yuuri woke, he smelt the familiar smell of his old scent. It was strong and comforting. He blinked his eyes open to see the blurry outlines of his room. He stretched out his fingers for his glasses, and once he found them, he brought his world into focus. His muscles ached, and his shoulders hurt, especially on the right side at a single point. Come to think of it, his left hip subtly radiated pain up his side. Squinting at a new smell, Yuuri tried to place it. It smelled like him, like ice and sweetpeas, but a new layer wove in between it. What was that? Lemongrass?

A smooth click of his bedroom door opening heralded his mother, and he breathed out a sigh, not sure why he was on guard in the first place. Well, he had just been at Ice Castle with Yuko and Nishigori, right? Why was he now at home?

"Mama," Yuuri tried to say around the dryness in this throat. It, too, felt raw.

"Oh, Yuuri," she said with love and relief flooding her voice. Her understated Omega scent was calming, but it was tinged with concern. She slowly closed the door behind her then offered him the water bottle she held.

"What happened?" he croaked, taking the welcomed drink. He was too warm, realizing he was covered in sweat, but the cool water salved his sore throat. He drank all of it down in one go as his mother sat on the edge of his bed.

"What do you remember?" she asked cautiously.

He eyed her as he lowered the empty bottle. What happened? He frowned as he thought back.

"Yuko and I were watching the Junior Worlds at Ice Castle, and then…" he tried to remember, but everything got confusing. He remembered turning to the tv and seeing a face he'd never seen before, but familiar all the same. "I saw… I think I saw someone I knew, but I don't know him. Mama, how is that possible? How do I know someone I don't know?" Yuuri asked, nearly confusing himself at his wording.

"And after that? Yuuri do you remember anything after that?" she asked, and Yuuri could see her concern in the hard panes of her soft face.

"Nah-uh. Why? What happened? I…" he stuttered to a stop as memories of heat and pain swirled in his head. He only remembered the burning under his skin, the yearning for something he didn't have a name for above the snapping of teeth and shouted cries before everything went dark.

Tears came to his eyes as he tried to sift through it. The bruises on his shoulders, the pounding of his head, the screaming and growling all told a story he wasn't sure he wanted to hear. His helpful mind began to flit strings of his health teacher's voice through his mind.

_…_ _sudden fever…_

_…_ _headaches, body aches…_

_…_ _dizziness and blurred vision…_

_…_ _can all be signs of presenting…_

"Mama, did I present?" Yuuri asked with wide eyes.

"Yes," she says with resignation but love and acceptance in her eyes. "You're an Omega."

Yuuri was twelve when his world changed.


	2. Dream

Gliding across the ice, Victor portrayed his dream. His arms swept through the air, pining for a love he didn't know. He dropped his head back in despair of his loneliness, nearly letting his eyes tear.

It was one of his strengths in the Juniors. He could surprise the world, one skate at a time. Yakov still berated him for trying to use quads, but with this routine, he didn't need them. He just needed to use his own yearning to tell the story of a lovelorn omega, pining for his alpha. Victor was the only one who could do it.

His long grey hair accented his elegant and delicate features. He skated, clad in a black and shear bodysuit, the half skirt and large rhinestones flittering in the lights as he moved. His angelic unpresented-self capturing the imaginations of the crowd. Their eyes trained on his emotional portrayal of a love he desperately wanted, one he was not likely to find.

He opened his arms in a plea as his body moved into a spread eagle before he pulled in on himself, leaping into a triple-flip, landing with grace.

It was perfect, and a little heartbreaking. His smooth movements and his deepest desire lent credence to his play on ice. Being unpresented meant Victor was living in limbo; he was a 16-year-old Unpresented. How miserable. His feminine features and luscious hair offered themselves to being an Omega. His build and strength, along with his charisma showed alpha tendencies. They said it was his low body fat from skating that kept him from presenting, but that was a stretch seeing as how all the other competitors in his age bracket had all shown their secondary genders by now. His disappointment at not presenting burned in the pit of his stomach.

Victor curled his back and shoulders down from his upright position, a layback spin (usually reserved for females or omegas), showcased his story's hero as he searches for love. Then he jumped into a flying sit-spin and landed on his opposite foot. He executed it with a clam grace, allowing his arm to raise and vacillate in the air above him before he stood again. He crossed the rink and began his sad and mournful step sequence.

His skate was supposed to be a story of young omega longing for a mate, but to Victor, it felt more like a lament about his own life. He wanted to be here, himself, and whole, but he couldn't. Something was missing, and he knew what it was. He wanted to know himself, who he was, what he was, and without that, his struggle continued. His chest tightened with the thought of it, the aching burn in his gut flaring.

His long ponytail swirled in the air around his head as he tipped it back again, coming from a combination spin to a camel spin, but something felt off. He was sweating. Of course, he was sweating, but as many times as he'd done this routine, he'd never been this drenched. As he sunk into another sit-spin, his stomach muscles clenched sharply around the fire growing there. Catching him unaware, he gasped at the pain, holding his stomach tight against the pulling heated ache.

Gritting his teeth, he frowned, forgetting to look lost to the pull of love. Something was wrong. Another pang shot through his spine, this time slicing up his back and down into his groin. A growl gnawed at his throat as he fought for air. His surprise gasp at his body's reactions had Victor looking to his coach, Yakov, behind the boards. The old alpha's frown wasn't his usual stern expression. This look carried worry and fear.

Victor's world began to spin, and he nearly lost his footing as he pulled to the end of his routine in the center of the ice. He collapsed onto the frozen lake beneath him, but he was burning up, his vision swimming as he tried to move. His legs gave out from under him when he tried, and something happened he never expected in a million years. Yakov was sliding onto the ice to get to him with medical personnel trailing after him. Yakov, the stoic, angry old alpha who yelled at him until the vein in his forehead looked like it was going to burst, was calling him, crooning to him.

"Lay still, Vitya. Everything is going to be ok," his course voice soothed. "Hurry it up!" he shouted over his shoulder at the medic.

Cool hands checked him over, but Victor was no help. He couldn't roll over, he couldn't answer what was wrong. The pain burned his throat and his muscles tensed into fire scorched stone.

Laying there, Victor caught the crowd's clamoring concern, their pungent odor filling the chilled arena. Above the den in his hollow ears he heard the master of ceremonies give his scores; he was the new world record holder for the Juniors free skate and overall Grand Prix final score.

It was what he wanted. Two world records just as he was leaving to debut in the Senior Division. It should have been a momentous occasion with pageantry and roses thrown at his feet, but he couldn't think about any of that.

He hurt. He _ached_. Everything in him _burned_.

A guttural whimper sounded in the milieu of noise when he was moved onto a stretcher. It took him a second to recognize that the sound came from him.

"Hush, Vitya. I'm here," Yakov purred, holding his hand. The comforting rumbled from the fatherly alpha reverberated deep in Victor's chest, and he opened his eyes enough to see the old warhorse's stress. "You'll be fine, little alpha," Yakov murmured to him in Russian, but Victor couldn't understand his words. He tried to piece together their meaning, but in his distress, it made no sense. 'Little alpha?' Hadn't he been playing a lovelorn omega?

His coach pumped his familiar scent into the air around them. Victor was sure it was meant to calm him, but he could smell the worry tainting the clean snow and peppermint smell of the man with its sour ping, but all he could do to reassure the man was to squeeze his hand.

Cries from the stands shrieked as he was carried from the ice. Yakov met his eyes, a hard expression hiding a troubled concern, and Victor knew what was expected of him. Torn between his searing body and his duty to his fans, Victor rose a burning hand to the emotional mob watching him and waved. He was alive, even if his flesh was on fire. He was alive. Another glance to Yakov's steely gaze and tight smirk as they left down a sheltered corridor, and he realized another of his dreams on the ice had come true.

Victor was presenting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe the response from this fic. Thank you so much for reading/favoriting/following/commenting! Your comments fuel my muse!
> 
> This is my first A/B/O fic, and second fic overall. Sorry for the late update, but I am trying to finish off my other story "Keep Moving Forward," an Ed/Roy 2003FMA story I have been posting for a year. Plus, this week started my second semester of a three year dual PhD program with two theories classes, so... yeah. I'll be busy ;) I will try to update this once ever other week until I can finish KMF.
> 
> I've gotten a few comments about Yurri being bitten. I was going to post his next chapter that would answer that concern, but this chapter got stuck in my head, and my muse just wouldn't shut up about it until it was written. So, it'll end up being discussed in chapter three! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Lastly, (and sorry for the long author's note) I cross post my stories under 'storylip' on Fanfiction, and I am on Tumblr under the same name (not really sure what I am doing there, but I'm there! hahaha).


	3. Explanations

"You're an Omega," his mother told him.

He met her eyes and let the reality of her words sink in.

"Just like me," she added when he gave no response.

"Are you sure?" Yuuri asked in a small voice. He didn't want to believe it. Omegas were weak creatures that everyone said were baby-pushing breeders who had only recently gained the rights of full citizens. He knew. He'd seen it in his humanities class, where the whole class had watched the diet pass the monumental Omega Equality bill; he'd even had to write a paper on it.

And now here he was… an Omega.

"Oh, Yuuri," his mother hugged him before leaning back and looking him in the eyes again, sweeping his sweaty hair back across his damp forehead. "When you were little, we had a feeling that you would present this way. Have you ever wondered why we built the addition down here?" She waved her hand to indicate his space. "Your room is the furthest from the guests, it has its own bathroom, and you have your own air conditioner/purifier; we even installed scent blockers in the building materials and insulation."

Realization dawned on his features, and he pulled in on himself. They'd known what he'd be. They had known, and prepared for it. They had known he'd be a weak Omega, but had never prepared him for that reality. He felt the knowledge sweep over him and felt nauseated anew.

"Now, Yuuri, what do you know about being an Omega?" she asked.

"They're weak," he hiccuped, tears springing to his eyes. "They go into h-he-heat all the time, and Alphas own them."

"No, Yuuri. No," she pulled him into another hug, nuzzling his neck scenting his distress. "We Omegas are beautiful, not weak. Yes, you'll have heats, sweetheart, but only a few times a year, but Alphas don't 'own' Omegas, not anymore. They protect and love their mates. And together, you and your mate will start your own family. No one who can carry children and birth them can be considered weak, Yuuri." His mother reassured him.

"Really?" he asked, unsure but willing to look up at her. He thought back to his life before, thinking of how he saw her. His mother was right. She was an Omega, but no one really treated her that differently than his father. Of course, his father was the head of the household, the man of the house, and the Alpha, but he was gentle, too.

"Yes, of course! But, before any of that happens, you need to make some decisions while you're still lucid," his mother stalled, steadying them both, not wanting to force this choice on her son, but having to nonetheless. "Until you're ready to have a baby of your own, you have to choose: suppressants or collars."

He stared at her in surprise, not knowing what to do or how to answer. Her words seemed to wash over him when all his mind could hear was replying the same thing over and again, 'have a baby.' A baby! He was supposed to have a baby?! He didn't want that. He didn't want this!

"If you go on suppressants, you can only do so for about 10 years; any more than that and you might not ever be able to have a baby. If you wear a collar, it will prevent an Alpha's bite from releasing the hormones in the scent glands in your neck; it's only after those hormones are released that will allow you to become pregnant, Yuuri. Although, wearing a scent blocking collar will also tell the world you are an Omega."

"Is that bad?" he asked in a small voice. "I thought you just said Omegas were 'beautiful' and would be protected and loved…" Yuuri's confusion was cut off.

"By their Alphas. Omegas aren't rare, Yuuri, but male Omegas are, so it might be harder for you, and I'm sorry about that. I only want to protect you, sweetheart, and you need to know that being an Omega today is not as bad as it was 100, 50, or even 20 years ago. But, Yuuri, there are still some people who may still look down on you, or think that they can push you around." Her eyes burned for a second, but the glint in her eyes was more pained and sad than angry.

"But, mama, if that's what it's like, then I don't wanna be one!" Yuuri cried, gripping her arms, feeling the fire returning to his body, slicing its way up his veins.

"Yuuri, it will be alright. Things change. People change, but we are who we are. Being an Omega is not something you can choose. It is who you are, just not _everything_ you are," she pulled his small trembling hands from her upper arms, sliding them into her own. "I promise, no one will make you do anything you don't want to do, but being an Omega is only part of what makes you, you. You're your father's and my son; you're your sister's little brother. You skate and do ballet. You like to eat katsudon, and you're an Omega."

"What if…" he began, tears running down his face, fear choking his breath, "what if I don't wanna have a… a b-baby?!"

"Oh, sweetheart. No one is saying you have to, but you do have to decide if you want medicine or a collar. You need to decide how you want to keep from having one while you can still decide for yourself."

"While I can still decide?" he asked with a frown. His body was feeling hot all over again, but this time, his stomach was having spasms, painful ones. Electricity felt like it was pinging through his body, searing his insides, and he knew his mind was becoming muddy again.

'Suppressants or collars.' What kind of choice was that? He reached up his hand to his neck, radiating waves of heat into the tingling of his fingers. The pinprick of pain shot through his muscles there, and he snapped his head to his mother, fear clutching his addled mind.

"Mama, did Nishigori bite me?" Yuuri felt frozen at the thought. Was he going to be Nishigori's mate?! Nothing could have scared him more- Nishigori as his mate… making him have a baby! His mind spun at the possibilities, at the frightening reality of his new life.

"No! Yuuri, no," his mother answered him sternly, almost yelling to stem his raising panic. "You were given a shot at Ice Castle. It helped you sleep through the first round of your presentation sickness, but your first heat will be starting very soon. It is almost here; I can smell it." She clarified at his rounded eyes growing wider. "This first round will be more intense than what you experienced at Ice Castle, Yuuri. You'll get slick soon. Your body will hurt, too," she said with tears in her eyes, obviously hating that her little boy was going to suffer. "Yuuri, we need you to decide: suppressants or collars."

"Su-suppressants," he said hoarsely over his scratchy throat, bending over his gut, his pain flaring. "Mama, mama. Make it sto-stop!" His thoughts were convoluted and spinning. The whole world was mad! His face planted into his covers as he tried to smell his familiar aroma, tried to find relief.

"Shh. Shh, Yuuri. I know, sweetheart," his mother cooed. "Hold still now, so I can give you your medicine."

He glanced to the side in time to see her stand and pull a syringe from her robe. Had she had it the whole time? Bracing her hand on his neck, she slowly inserted the needle into his throbbing gland there, where his shoulder met his neck. Coolness coated his inflamed scent gland, pushing the fire back once more.

"Rest now," he heard his mama's disembodied voice say, "rest."

His fear and anxiety slipping away with his drooping eyelids and muddled mind. He let go of his pain as he sunk into calm waters, floating in a placid stream in his mind. His last thought before drifting off down river was of a beautiful set of aquamarine eyes twinkling brightly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. I was swamped with theories classes (reading 300-400 pages a week of dense theory- ugh), leading discussion, interviewing staff for class papers, and writing those papers all while catching/getting over the flu. Ugh (again. Hahaha). Ok. No more complaining-promise. That's just grad school. Hahaha.
> 
> Back to the story... So what do you think so far? Feedback fuels my muse, and she's a cheeky flirt! There one minute and gone the next. =)


	4. Congratulations, It's an Alpha!

**Nikivorof Breaks World Records While Presenting**

London, England. During his final Junior Worlds, Victor Nikivorof (16) showed the skating world yet again his skill on the ice as he not only set two new world records (Juniors Free Skate and Junior Worlds overall score), but in a surprising turn of events, presented as an…

(click here for the full story)

**Welcome to the Seniors, Alpha Nikivorof!**

Skating's rising star and young enigmatic athlete, Victor Nikivorof, demonstrated this past week that he is indeed ready for the Senior Division, shattering records with his breathtaking performance in London. But perhaps what is more amazing is that he did so while presenting…

(click here to continue)

**Junior World Figure Skating Champion Presents During Competition**

**ISF Competition Rules Due for an Overhaul?**

Safety concerns have been raised for competitors who have yet to present in the International Skating Federation. After this week's presentation sickness incident with Victor Nikivorof (16, M, Alpha), sponsors and fans alike have voiced concerns for competing unpresented skaters…

(click here to continue)

* * *

 

Victor sighed as he scrolled through the news feeds on his laptop with subdued interest. He had never really cared about the public notice he had garnered before now, but this last episode had really put him in the on the map. And he was unsure how to deal with all the attention.

Closing his eyes, he thought back to when he'd first skated as a child. He had just wanted to be on the ice. To experience the crispness of the air, the openness of the ice, the feeling of flying. The ice was a quiet haven from life's inconsistencies. It was always there for him; it was always patient and firm, almost caring. Always with him, for him. It had been where he felt the freest.

It still was.

He could be anybody, nobody, or himself.

No matter the amount of work required to continue living on the ice, he would do it. It didn't matter, so long as he could keep skating. He would keep the crowds entertained, keep them guessing, and keep himself skating. The only price was winning, and if that meant he could keep his solace, his refuge, he would train harder, be stronger, more creative, than anyone else.

Opening his eyes again, and letting them readjust to the brightness of the screen in the dark room, he considered his current predicament. The conflict he was facing now was the difference between his need for privacy and living his dream as long as possible. He needed quiet and space to center himself. Using parts of himself in the routes he crafted to connect with the audience was one thing, but sharing his private life with others, even those close to him, was not something he felt comfortable with. He didn't like them seeing him.

Scrolling again through online news forums, he dropped his head into his left hand. Obviously, he did recognize that as a professional skater, he would be on display all the time. He'd already had a taste of it in his Juniors career, but going forward… Presenting as an Alpha during a competition had been out of his control, but having his personal business splashed across news and tabloid media was unsettling. Being the case study for social or institutional change was also, not just embarrassing, but exposing – to be laid bare like that for everyone to see.

Did he really need a commentary on how his secondary gender would shape his future career? Pushing the keyboard way from him, he sunk his head onto his crossed arms and remembered thinking during the performance about wanting to know if he was an Alpha, Beta or Omega. The only difference was that privately considering who he thought of himself as and having people all over the world weigh in on the implications of his secondary gender on who he was as a person was demoralizing.

He sighed as he rocked his forehead along his folded arms, trying to consider the matter. Of course, it did matter what people said about him as a professional, how he acted, what he did and said. Their image of him would shape how they treated him, how marketable he'd be to sponsors. Victor had a buoyant personality and an easy smile that had helped him gain support from his audiences as well as financial backers, but he was overall a private person.

Raising his hands to scratch his head, he let his head hang in resignation. Now with the spot light on him, and if he was going to continue to live in the public eye, it was clear he needed to make a choice: suppressant or collar.

It was figuratively the same as an Omega's bid to prevent a rabid Alpha from attacking. How was he going to protect himself from the voracious masses?

He'd seen fans and critics both hammer at Yakov and Lilia's private and public lives. He'd seen the collateral damage their relationship had taken in just the time he had been under their tutelage, not to mention all the stories of how invasive the coverage had been when the two had first married or when Lilia had retired from the ballet.

Victor groaned and threw his long hair back, rubbing his palms into his eyes as his head rested on the top of his wooden chair. No. He needed to control how much he allowed himself to be exposed. So, the question became: did he suppress his private life, having nothing that would attract attention, or did he cover himself with a false persona, giving them all something to look at? Should he intentionally suppress his private life to prevent it from being ripped apart, or should he create a public persona that would be impervious to the masses' figurative bites?

Either way his public self was going to be tested.

"Vitya," Yakov's gruff voice followed a rough pounding on the closed door. "I can see the light from your screen under the door. Sleep already! We have an early practice in the morning – have to make up for your time off."

He let his arms fall to the sides of his chair and just hang, his eyes staring unseeing at the dark ceiling. When he didn't respond, he heard a sigh through the door before the creaking of the floor indicating his coach had left. He let out a contemplative breath of his own. He knew his world was about to change, had already changed, really, but tonight all he could do was consider Yakov's words.

'Time off…' he thought as he shut down his computer and stumbled over to get into his bed.

Victor couldn't say whether he would call it that. Rutting mindlessly into his mattress for a week without satisfaction was hardly a break. His first rut-haze had finally broken late this morning, and he was still exhausted. But that did not seem to deter his coach from pushing him back on the ice so soon.

Initially, Yakov Feltsman, All-Around Triple Crown Gold Medalist and Russia's number one figure skating coach for the last 20 years, had been surprisingly patient and firm with him, almost caring. Thankfully, the famous molder of Russian ice champions had _been there,_ with him, for him. More than Victor's pittance of a family, Yakov had watched over him while his mind was flooded with the urge to drench his new claim on anything within range that didn't have his scent previously on it, leaving honeysuckle cut with ice and brine to linger, even on a few of his personal items that already smelled like him.

Like his skates and costume. They'd smelled of responsive, audacious Omegas and aggressive, agitated Alphas from the arena's crowd. Now that he thought about it with a clear head, he couldn't blame them. It was their instinctual reaction to a newly presenting Alpha, but at the time, he'd been furious in his own miasma. It was not the scent of _his_ omega – a song he could hear resonating in his ears, driving him to claim, to bite, to mark.

He sunk into his mattress as he thought about what might have inspired that feeling. With so many people there, he wasn't even sure if he was imagining things. It could have been anybody's scent that set him off, or it could just be his late blooming biology, but he had a feeling, an instinct, that it was more than that. _Someone_ had sung out him, a siren's song only he could hear. He knew it; he just didn't know how he did or what it meant. Yet.

However, after Victor's hard week (no pun intended), and with the return of his sanity, Yakov's expressions of concern and care from the Junior Worlds had reverted to their more common frowns of annoyance and resignation. To his credit, though it had taken some convincing, Yakov had given Victor today to recuperate, instead of forcing him back onto the ice as soon as he had woken up.

"Welcome back, Vitya," he had heard Yakov's gravelly voice as his mind had cleared completely for the first time in days.

"What time is it?" he'd asked, sitting up in bed and owlishly taking in the bright light of day, adjusting slowly to a new depth of detail.

The sounds of the birds chirping in the tree outside his window had been louder than before. He had been able to make out the smell of his dissipating need, an embarrassing prospect after he'd realized he wasn't alone. The taste of his morning breath as well as the cloying feel of gritty sweat and dried semen plastered to his skin had also hinted that he could've used a few moments of privacy to put himself to rights.

"Time to get up," Yakov had stood from his seat near the head of the bed, the place he had spent most his time guarding and caring for his young charge.

"Up?" Lilia Baranovskaya's clipped voice had dropped over her husband's shoulder. The former Russian prima ballerina's hard exclamation had proven she did have a soft spot for Victor, or at least he had hoped so after the last few years living together and training under her. "He's just regained his self-control. Now is the time for resting," she had said as she entered the room, bringing with her a brisk and clean, Alpha tinted, sharp calm he had never fully appreciated before. It had been like a crisp and cool spring breeze had swept into the room, cutting through his own intense, odorous rank. "He must recover his strength and acclimate to his new self."

"We have already lost too much time," Yakov had chided across his collarbone, but had not met her eyes. "He needs to get used to sorting out the world's scents," he'd told her before turning his hollowed grey gaze to Victor. "They'll be overwhelming for the first few days," he had advised, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Exactly," Lilia had bit back, and had thrown a sharp glance at her Alpha husband then focused on Victor. He had felt uncomfortable for more than one reason watching the heated exchange from his position on the bed, sitting in his own filth. "Get used to the reincarnated you, Vitya," she'd said, addressing him directly, while he'd barely kept from buckling under the weight of her gaze. "The old you is dead. You are reborn an Alpha. Take pride in honing your new skills; let instinct guide you."

They didn't really give him the chance to reply before they continued on without him.

"He will learn faster if he is faced with it sooner rather than later, Lilia," Yakov had retorted to his stoic Alpha wife, not really talking to Victor anymore. "Do not coddle him."

"Coddle him? Who was it that gave him the extra sedatives?" She barked, lime green eyes piercing murky grey ones, making Victor marvel that they had obviously forgotten he was still covered in his own crusty spunk beneath his disheveled sheet. He hadn't been sure if he'd wanted to laugh or cringe.

"To ease his discomfort! Would you have let him rut his way into a fever?" Yakov snarled. Victor had wondered if he'd really been that bad, and if perhaps they could have had this fight without him there. "He needed to be healthy and clear minded when it broke."

Not that Victor had been resisting returning to training, in and of itself, but he'd known he needed to rest before he was back to normal, or rather... his new normal. He'd known he would need every practice they could squeeze into the off season to prep for his Senior debut, especially now that he had presented. Only, none of them had planned on a week's worth of instruction to be lost.

"And so, he is well, but if you want him to avoid further vulnerability to fever, he will stay in bed and recuperate," she nearly threw the cold words in Yakov's face before adding a firm, "Understood?!" She had ordered Victor's compliance, spearing him through with her glare, explicitly ending the confrontation as he had nodded vigorously. "Lunch is in an hour."

She and a sulking Yakov had left him in silence. For his part, Victor had hoped she wouldn't mind if he got out of bed to shower, but had thought it better to wait until she was out of hearing range before he'd made a move.

His ballet and skating coaches had been fighting like usual, but there had been a chill to their arguments as of late. Victor hadn't really been paying attention, but this morning Lilia's words could have been a physical blow for all the power it had over Yakov's blustering about acclimating Victor to his new senses on the ice as soon as possible.

Sitting in his dark room tonight, only illuminated by the small sliver of moon through the window, Victor hoped their sharp words weren't too serious, but the wounded look his coach had given his wife… Well, it wasn't his business. He was here in their home to learn from the best Russia had to offer. And now that offer would be exponentially more prosperous than ever before.

During his bouts of lucidity, he'd heard the phone calls coming in. Yakov's voice had carried rather well in the acoustics of their well-appointed home when he took the calls in another room. New sponsorships for Victor, for the Russian National Team, for Yakov and Lilia.

It was all thanks to his new status.

His new Alpha status.

With only 9% of the Russian population presenting as Alphas (compared to the overall global estimates of 20% Alpha, 70% Beta, 10% Omega prevalence) and the number of children being born declining rapidly, Victor had just entered an elite class of citizenry. One which afforded him more resources to pursue his dreams.

In fact, he'd had a semi-coherent discussion with a Beta case worker from the Alpha Development Bureau, with Yakov giving the guy dirty looks while he stood at the head of Victor's bed. The Beta had shown up to discuss Victor's long-awaited emancipation from his parents. Not that he'd seen either of them in almost a year this last time.

The agency worker had expected Victor to be more surprised that the state knew his father kept taps on him just to siphon off as much of Victor's winnings and sponsorship money as he could to support his gambling habit. They still had no idea where his mother was; she'd show up asking for money sometimes and was gone as soon as it passed hands.

Accordingly, the ADB were going to speed his paperwork through the process in the family courts. And wasn't that the best news? Mostly, Victor hadn't been surprised because he'd applied for emancipation with Yakov and Lilia's help two years ago, stating these exact reasons, but now that Victor was an international Russian hero and an Alpha, it was almost expected – if he'd been in his right frame of mind to be considering it in the first place. However, the government couldn't afford to drag their feet anymore.

Rolling over, Victor considered his choices. He'd be a legally independent international celebrity near overnight, not that he didn't already have a following. How was he going to do it? He groaned as the future unfurled in front of him.

Alpha status. Emancipation. International sponsorship.

Yakov and Lilia would be there to help him, he knew, but there was a big wide world out there, and he had choices to make. And the first one needed to be made soon.

Suppressant or collar?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all sorry it took me a while to get this up, but I made it a long one to make up for it *hides behind a random fern, and pokes her head out* I hope you like it. *shakes head in self-reprimand* I know, I know. I suck at keeping to an update schedule hahaha, but the semester is almost over and then I can post weekly!
> 
> Thanks for all the awesome comments (I tried to get to you all, but if I missed you, sorry- next time). I have been super busy with school, but couldn't help thinking about you all. The response to this is so exciting for me! I enjoy writing this, and am so happy to see people enjoy reading it. Let me know what you think so far. My muse eats it all up =)


	5. Chapter 5

“But, Mama…” Yuuri pleaded.

“Don’t ‘but Mama’ me,” Hiroko stood, un-swayed by her son’s unlikely predicament. “You have school and then skating practice. It’s time to get up, and get ready.”

Yuuri groaned from his place under the warm blanket. He had already woken from his restless sleep early this morning. The ache in his lower back and sore chest made him want to huddle in the warmth of his bed. He tried to convince his mother that he was not feeling well, but for the fourth day in a row with no contagious symptoms, she was beginning to doubt her son’s ‘illness.’

He had no fever, no headache. His stomach felt unsetteled, but that was hardly a reason to stay home. Yuuri moaned as he sat and stretched his tight lower back. A sharp pain ran up his spine as he tried to relieve the tension. He hissed at the feel of it, wishing he could melt into the soft supportive coverings surrounding him. He had gotten up early to find additional pillows and blankets to support his legs, hoping to reduce the pressure there, but their added comfort only soothed his heart, not his back.

It truly wasn’t that he was trying to get out of school; he was just hurting. In fact, even though he mainly kept to himself now that Yuko and Nishigori had moved on to high school, he enjoyed learning. On top of that, when he was done with school, he could skate.

He loved gliding on the ice, flipping in the air, fluidly moving his body. He never tried to get out of doing it. It was more often the opposite. Yuuri would sneak into Ice Castle, thanks to Yuko working there part-time after school, and he would skate for hours. The additional time on the ice was starting to show in his footwork, and because of that, he had been approached by Takano-sensei.

The aging Beta had requested to be Yuuri’s coach. Since he was little, Yuuri had attended ballet lessons with Minako-sensei and any group skating classes that were offered at his rink. Yuuri had been delighted by Takano-sensei’s offer and the Beta’s belief in his skill. Coupling Minako-sensei’s and Takano-sensei’s training with his extended practice hours, Yuuri was bound to fell sore.

With that in mind, he began to climb out of his warm bed, shaking off his stiff back. He dropped his blanket, revealing glimpses of the additional padding he had built around the edges of his bed. Satisfied that her youngest was following her directions, but raising an interested eyebrow at his additional bedsheets, Hiroko left the room without saying a word to finish plating breakfast for her family and the inn’s guests.

Yuuri struggled as he got ready and met his family at the table at the end of the long hallway. As his mother placed his food in front of them, his stomach rolled. The strong smell of fish slammed into his nose, overpowering everything else. He pushed down the clenching in his gut. Losing his appetite, he instead listened to his family’s morning chatter.

His mother and father, Toshiya, were discussing what needed to be done for the onsen, while his sister, Mari, subtly hinted that she would help after school for pocket money to go to her favorite band’s concert. It was a pleasant moment, not unlike any other morning, but there was a subtle fatigue that lingered in him.

“Yuuri, eat your breakfast before it gets cold,” his mother admonished.

“I’m just not hungry,” he said looking off to the side, not meeting her gaze or looking at the usually delicious traditional morning meal of miso soup, white rice, and fish.

“Are you sure he’s not sick?” his father asked his mother.

“He looks a little green,” Mari said. She gave him a slow once over from her seat beside him.

Just as his father reached across the table to touch his forehead, Yuuri jerked back with a sudden wave of nausea. His hand came to cover his mouth as he rushed from his seat to the toilet, before upending the contents of his abused feeling stomach, forgetting to close the door in his haste.

“Yuuri,” his mother called from down the hall, her voice getting louder as she approached. “Sweetheart, why didn’t you say anything about an upset tummy? Are you feeling better at least?”

He shook his head, kneeling as he hovered over the porcelain receptacle. Feeling tears prick his eyes from the force of being ill, he threw up once more before feeling safe enough to answer. His mother sat patiently behind him rubbing soothing circles into his back.

“Mama, I don’t feel so good,” was Yuuri’s eventual sheepish reply.

“Oh, Yurri,” she sighed, a sad and loving smile touching her lips.

“Take him to see Okigawa-sensei. Yuuri has seemed off the last few days,” his father’s comforting voice proposed to his cooing mother behind them. “Better to get you checked over at the clinic,” Toshiya told his son who looked like he was going to wave off the doctor’s visit. “Can’t skate until you are better, hm?”

At those words, Yuuri gave in, feeling another roll in his upset stomach at the loss of the ice.

The trip to the medical clinic in downtown Hasetsu might have been routine had it not been for Yuuri needing to throw up in his plastic trashcan twice more. Having called ahead, Yuuri was seen within five minutes of arriving, and making a quick detour to the restroom. The nice nurse led them back from the waiting area to a small, cold examination room.

Losing the contents of his stomach had also reduced his core body temperature, making him more susceptible to the lower temperature. Yuuri shivered as he waited for his mother to give her best answers to the nurse’s questions for their visit. Noticing his chill, the young lady offered him a warm blanket, which he gladly accepted, wrapping himself snuggly into it.

He listened absently as his mother answered general health questions (taking his height, weight, temperature, and blood pressure), when his last heat was (2 months ago), and listed his vocalized symptoms (vomiting, but no fever); however, there were those additional aches and pains he had woken with for the past few days that he did not give voice to. Why would he when they were related to skating anyway?

Okigawa-sensei, a comforting Beta in his 50s with short black hair and kind eyes, entered the room after Yuuri was left with his mother for a few moments. Distractedly, Yuuri nodded to the exchange of pleasantries and a reiteration of the reasons for his visit.

“So how long have you not felt well?” the doctor said as he checked Yuuri’s eyes and ears.

“The last few days,” Yuuri replied with a graveled voice.

“Say, ‘ah,’” Okigawa-sensei instructed, checking Yuuri’s throat with his flashlight and tongue depressor. Once done he began massaging Yuuri’s throat. “Any soreness?”

“Not there,” Yuuri said feeling the physician’s assessment of the glands in his throat, moving his borrowed blanket enough to also check those along his collar bone, shoulders, and neck. Yuuri hissed slightly as the doctor’s cool hands roamed over the scent gland on the right side of his neck.

“Hm,” was the acknowledgment of discomfort. “Alright, Yuuri, can you lay back for me? I need to do a physical exam,” the middle-aged Beta directed. The man had been Yuuri’s doctor for as long as he could remember. Okigawa-sensei had been the one to give him his physical after he presented as well as his suppressant prescriptions.

Yuuri handed his plastic bucket to his mother, thankful that he had dumped its contents from the car ride in the bathroom before being seen. As Yuuri leaned back onto the paper covered exam table, he let the reassuring words of his doctor wash over him.

“That’s a good lad,” Okigawa-sensei smiled with care. “Where else does it hurt?”

“Um, well, my lower back hurt this morning and my chest is still sore,” Yuuri added with a slight blush, twirling his hands nervously where they lay over his lower abdomen. “But I’ve been training a lot, so…”

“Hm,” Okigawa-sensei’s concern was layered in the single syllable. He got Yuuri’s ascent before removing the blanket to check him over, evaluating his tender chest and aching back before asking him to sit up. “What about your appetite? Any changes?” He asked, helping Yuuri replace the warm blanket.

“Um…” Yuuri thought about the last three or four days, and had remembered bringing home much more of his lunch and leaving more on his plate for family meals.

“Now that you mention it, Yuuri has been eating less than he should, especially with all the training he does at Ice Castle,” his mother added, obviously remembering the same facts as her son.

“And your mood? Feeling lonely, sad, more tired?” Okigawa-sensei asked. Yuuri nodded hesitantly.

“He made a nest this morning,” his mother breathed, concern lacing her whispered words. Yuuri bit his lip, scared by the worry in her tone. The older man hummed, turning back to the file folder he had walked in with. Made a note before turning back to his patient.

“Well, I would like to run a few more tests before you leave. Katsuki-san, can I speak with you in the hall for moment?” At his mother’s nod, his doctor smiled at him, “we’ll be right back, Yuuri. Please wait here,” he said reassuringly, handing Yuuri his plastic container, “just in case.”

Left alone, Yuuri considered all of the symptoms he had disclosed. It was an odd mix, but all Yuuri wanted to do was wrap tighter in the warmth of the loaned blanket. He snuggled deeper down into the borrowed comfort, hoping the new wave of nausea would pass quickly. The adults reentered the cold room, his mother’s face was formed into grim lines while the doctor gave his best comforting smile.

“Mama?” Yuuri asked, feeling more unsettled by their serious features.

“I’ll send the nurse in to do the blood withdraw, but, Yuuri,” he said before turning and retrieving a small plastic urine cup. “I need you to take this into the restroom and fill it about halfway. Can you do that for me? There is a little door on the wall. When you are done, just place it inside then come back here.” When Yuuri nodded and took the cup, Okigawa-sensei added, “That’s a good lad. I will be back as soon as the urine test is complete.”

Uncertain, Yuuri watched Okigawa-sensei point to the restroom before leaving them. Yuuri’s unease grew as he and his mother waited in their small cold room for the results. Unfortunately, his anxiety did not help his upset stomach, and threw up one last time. With a small knock, the doctor returned with a nod for his mother in what felt like an eternity later. Her loving mouth formed into a tight line, but she left the Beta to explain the results.

“Yuuri,” the older man began, obviously unsure of where to begin. “You see lad, sometimes when an Omega presents early, their hormones can fluctuate for the first few years; they usually settle down by the time they are out of high school. Sometimes, these fluctuations can mean increased weight gain, depression, or anxiety. Other times, these hormones can become imbalanced, convincing the body of things that are not true.”

Yuuri waited patiently, nodding along, but not really understanding where Okigawa-sensei was going with all of this.

“Is there something wrong with me?” Yuuri asked apprehensively.

“It’s not that there is something wrong with you, lad,” the doctor tried to reassure, “but I think the blood tests will show that you have a hormone imbalance.”

“Um… so, what does that mean? Is that why I feel sick?” Yuuri asked, trying to understand. “What about my suppressants? Aren’t they hormone inhibitors? Does that mean I have to stop taking them?” Yuuri tried to draw on his ‘Cellular Biology’ and ‘Sexual Education and Dynamics (SED)’ classes.

He had had to take his SED class with the upperclassman, since he had presented early. It had been nerve-racking taking a touchy subject with people he did not know, but he found the information and answers to the ‘anonymous questions’ helpful in understanding himself and the biological aspects of being an Omega. Now it seemed his body was yet again making decisions for him, first having presented as an Omega, and now followed by a biological imbalance.

“It is all right lad. Slow down. Yes, the hormone imbalance is why you feel sick. Since you have been on suppressants for,” Okigawa-sensei turn to double check his chart for a moment before meeting Yuuri again, “the past year, it only means that we’ll have to change your prescription until your body can find a natural balance.”

Yuuri sighed in relief. ‘Okay,’ he thought to himself, ‘nothing too serious, just an imbalance.’ Then, thinking over what had been said, he thought about his symptoms, particularly the pain in his back, chest, and scent gland. What did his screwy biology have to do with those?

“Um… I think I understand about my mood and appetite, Okigawa-sensei, but what about the soreness? What do hormones have to do with that?” Yuuri frowned trying to make the connections between the different pieces of information. “I thought hormones were like your body’s messengers, giving directions.”

“That’s right, lad. It is just that yours are telling your body that you are pregnant,” Okigawa-sensei said as delicately as he could, but the disclosure only left Yuuri feeling like he had been slammed into a wall.

Pregnant? Pregnant?!

“But I never… I haven’t…” Yuuri tried to say, embarrassment, shame, and disbelief chopping his words.

“And no one saying that you have,” Okigawa-sensei said reaching out affectionately and gripping Yuuri shaking, scared hand, while his mother sat beside him and enveloped him in a half hug. “However, your body’s messengers are confused. We simply need to realign them. Once we get your bloodwork back, we can change your supplement dosage and get you leveled out. Don’t worry. Your urine test shows you are not actually pregnant.” The doctor squeezed Yuuri’s hand reassuringly, before continuing. “Although I had hoped to avoid this situation with the prescriptions you have been taking, we’ll have to keep a closer eye on your hormone levels for the next few years. It is not uncommon for an Omega who presented early, like you, to go through this. Therefore, along with new suppressants, I would like you to consider getting a pet.”

Yuuri tried to absorb all the information his doctor was giving him, but the suggestion of a pet struck him as odd in his emotional upheaval. He had always wanted one, but living in an onsen with paying guests had always deterred him from asking. His eyes lit up with surprise and excitement at the prospect. He turned his mother and saw that she was looking at Okigawa-sensei.

“Forgive me, Sensei, but how might a pet help Yuuri?” She asked the Beta. The slight frown on her face indicated curiosity as well as concern.

“Most Omega that go through false pregnancies like this, find their parenting instincts heightened. Having a pet, especially ones that appreciate being cuddled, like dogs, help channel these behaviors in healthy ways,” the doctor offered his mother a knowing look, having vacationed at their inn once a year since it had opened. “Please think it over, Katsuki-san, for Yuuri.”

At his mother’s considering nod, Yuuri held out hope for a fluffy companion. The thought made him feel a rush of protectiveness, warmth, and an ache to nurture. The drive felt more of a biological imperative than he originally considered, and it scared him. He remembered that dreadful day when he had woken up an Omega, fearing Nishigori had bitten him, and realizing his terror at the thought of having a baby.

Now barely a year later, his body again betrayed him. He worked hard to keep his life the same, or as close to the same as it had been before. He had been diligent in taking his suppressants, and he had shouldered the embarrassment of taking SED with strangers. Yet no matter what he did to live his normal life, biology led him by the nose, convincing itself of a Dynamic need – to father a child. He gritted his teeth at the unfairness of not being able to control his own body. And it was unfair. Why should being an Omega determine his fate?

Over the next few days, Yuuri began to feel the routine sickness in the morning with his symptoms lessening by lunch time. His mother had warned him that pregnancy sickness was not only relegated to the morning hours, but he was glad that the rest of his day seemed unencumbered with nausea so much so that he could stand the walk to his rink. He still did not want to let his friend Yuko, the Madonna of Ice Castle, know what was happening with his health; it was embarrassing and frustrating. However, even if he was not allowed to skate for the time being, he was still allowed to visit the rink. It was at Ice Castle that he found himself listening to his friend’s enthusiasm for their skating idol.

“According to this,” she showed the skating magazine’s interview with pictures. “Victor has a poodle!”

Yuuri’s eyes were inevitably drawn to the beautiful teen and his obvious love for his dog. A rush of pride and warmth flooded his heart as he gazed into twinkling aquamarine eyes set against creamy skin. Victor’s silver gray hair cascaded in a freefall over his shoulder as he knelt beside his brown curly haired companion. Victor was hugging his adorable canine, also having thrown is scarf around both of them. The warmth in his eyes, even if the offered smile was slightly awkward, told Yuuri that his love for the animal was genuine.

Yuuri felt a full-bodied release of endorphins flood his system as he took in the sight of the Russian. The image of Victor made Yuuri crave with instinctual need, for what he did not know. Instead of thinking more deeply about it, he brushed it off, dismissing it as his disordered hormones yet again manipulating him.

“You see? Right there,” she handed over the article. “Isn’t it adorable?” She asked drumming her hands in the air in her excitement.

“Aww!” Yuuri had cried, eagerly taking the offered publication. He felt his grip tightened wanting in that moment to be a part of the picture, to be in it, rather than looking at it. He wanted Victor’s arms around him, wanted to feel the silky locks of silver sliding through his fingers. He could almost feel the heat of it, the warmth of an embrace 4700 miles away. He knew; he looked. What he would not give to be standing in front of Victor, to have aquamarine look at him with affection, to be able to touch the idol. Yuuri sharply inhaled at the thoughts roaming through his mind. His hormones truly were out of control, but he also couldn’t help himself in hoping to one day skate with man in this picture.

It was with this image branded into his sight that the next time Yuko saw him, he was holding his very own miniature poodle.

“Aw, is this sweet little ball of fluff yours?”

“Yeah, and I named him Victor.”

Yuko giggled.

“You really are Victor’s number one fan, aren’t you? I hope you get to compete against him someday. I would really like to see it,” she said tilting her head and smiling her encouragement.

Hearing the girl he idolized praise his potential nearly knocked the wind out of him. He took a deep breath, blushing as his deepest desire was given voice. He hugged his new poodle, his own Vic-chan. And Victor, his inspiration, his idol, his… his… well, Victor would never need to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you so much for being patient with me! I made the chapter a little longer to make up for the long break. Now that Spring is over... WEEKLY POSTINGS! (Or at least that is the goal until finished or Fall semester begins, whichever one comes first- hahaha) Gosh I suck at updating-sorry! *bows, bows again, and looks at you with hope you won't judge me too harshly* Anywho... let me know what you think. Your wonderful comments feed my muse and keep my mind ready with more story when I sit down to write ;)


	6. Alone

“Victor, how does it feel to win gold at the European championship in only your first year?”

“Has the transition to the Senior division been smooth?”

“How does it feel to win against seasoned veterans in the Seniors a year after presenting?”

Victor was asked a barrage of inquiries on the podium during the medal ceremony, and he just smiled. His long hair was pulled back into a high tail, crowned with a wreath of blue roses.  He could not avoid their questions for long, seeing as he would have to answer them during the press conference to follow, but he wanted to savor the moment.

He tried to allow himself the joy of winning, knowing it meant he could stay on the ice. He wanted to feel something real, but these days it was hard to feel anything at all. Once he had decided to wear the shield of a public persona, decided to protect himself from the rabid public and those that sought to take, take, take from him, he’d been immersed in deep, gentle waves. The excitement from surprising the crowd and his wins felt dull in comparison to the ice’s comfort.

It was a subtle, contented feeling, one of pride and accomplishment, but serenity continued to evade him. He had stood the podium the month prior in St. Petersburg with Silver hanging from his neck, as it had in his two qualifying events for the Grand Prix. But now. He grinned. Now it was gold.

His practiced smile grew as a bouquet of individually wrapped red tulips was placed in his arms by one of the young skaters collecting the tokens off the rink. This was the moment he had been training for all year. Additionally, he had poured himself into the role he had decided for his off the ice persona: the playful, absent-minded heartthrob.

In retrospect, it had not been a hard choice, seeing as his status as an up-and-coming sex symbol had already been burgeoning, even before his Alpha presentation. He would allow the infusion of his bubbly personality to weave into his public face. With each new appearance, he honed the façade. He waved again to the crowd absently as he and the other skaters moved to the boards.

“Hi, Victor. Congratulations,” a high-pitched voice broke into the gold medalist’s thoughts as he stepped off the ice. The exuberant words carried over the Warsaw crowd easily.

“And what is your name?” Victor asked the young blond teen. The boy was clutching his hands above the spectator barrier on the first pavilion, while his green eyes twinkled.

“Christophe Giacometti,” the innocent looking young fan nearly squealed in his obvious excitement at catching Victor’s attention.

Wait. Victor knew that name. He was the young Omega skater from Switzerland who had qualified for the next Senior division contest. It had nearly been a scandal, when some of the officials from more conservative countries had insisted on the boy’s use of suppressants rather than his collar.

The skater had complied with their demands, but Victor had heard the bylaws were up for revision, as the negative press and public judgment had condemned the Skating Federation for requiring an adolescent to take high levels of suppressants. After his own dealings with government agencies and institutions trying to have a say in his personal life, Victor and other skaters had publicly sided with the Omega skater’s right to choose. However, he had yet to meet the source of the current upheaval in person, that is until now.

“Thanks, Chris. Here,” he said as he threw one of his plastic wrapped red tulips tied with a miniature red bow up to the curly haired boy. “See you at the Worlds.” He smiled his cultured polite grin at his new competition.

Chris nodded, blushing his agreement to meet in Tokyo. He was adorable. He looked as though he should be skipping through a Swiss meadow, and it made Victor’s smile more genuine. How idyllic.

As Victor left the rink side, he absently wondered about the worshiping shine in the boy’s eyes. He saw the jubilation of meeting someone you look up to, Chris putting him on a pedestal. It saddened him. Victor would forever be separate, alone. He would never have a peer to see him for who he was, not what he was or what he represented. All they would see was his fame, his perfected face, but never him.

He knew that winning a gold medal in his debut year at the European championship, after just turning 17, would win him great acclaim. Yakov and his estranged wife, Lilia, had already been approached by multiple sponsors, and Victor was sure there would be more with his latest win.

Since his presentation, just over a year ago now, life had both drastically changed and not changed at all. With his sponsorship money (which fluctuated depending on the project, commercial, or his skating needs), competition winnings ($13,000 USD per each of his silvers at the Grand Prix qualifiers and $18,000 USD silver at the final, now along with his $20,000 USD gold European final win), as well as the funds from the Alpha Development Bureau (750,000 Rubles/year*, roughly $30,000 USD/year), along with his new emancipated status, he was doing quite well for himself.

Victor had moved out of his coaches’ home and into an apartment he’d bought himself. He could afford it. Most importantly, it was close to his home rink. Besides that, the warehouse conversion had a utilitarian edge that made the condo feel sleek rather than cold.

In his first few weeks alone there, however, he had found himself to be lonely. So, in his first off-season, he had found himself a new companion to keep him company in the hollow space, a long-haired poodle he had named Makkachin. The lovable dog settled right into Victor’s life as if he had always been there, cuddling him with affection and warmth in their new home.

He had originally planned to stay with his skating instructors, but as their relationship began to deteriorate further and his career began to take off, he thought it best to get his own space. Not that he didn’t appreciate everything that they had done for him, because he did, but even with his carefree personality he still felt at fault for his coaches’ relationship spiraling further into decline.

Speaking of the devil, Yakov approached him then. He was holding out Victor’s blade guards in one hand. The Team Russia track suit folded over his other arm, covering the younger Alpha’s shoes. The old Alpha was wearing the dreaded ‘lecture face.’ Considering the medal around his neck, Victor did not understand his coach’s obvious frustration.

“Ah, Yakov, there you are,” Victor said with much cheer, ignoring the older man’s stern-faced frown. “I just met the most adorable little boy,” he said as he took his plastic blade guards from the man. Leaning forward and using his coach’s shoulder for balance, he fastened them into place. “Christophe Giacometti,” he finished his story with a heart shaped smile. He found a seat before changing out of his skates, sliding into his team warm-ups, and put on his shoes.

“Vitya, adorable he may be, but his jumps are no joking matter. How do you plan on defending your new medal against that boy if you stumble out of your spread-eagle-triple-loop-triple-axel combination? Your footwork was sloppy throughout the middle, as well. We will have to spend more time on your fundamentals and your stamina. It is a wonder you came out on top this time. The judges were too kind to you,” Yakov railed against him in one breath, turning redder as he used up all of his air.

“It’s fine. It’s fine,” Victor flipped his wrist, flicking away the harsh critique. “I’ll make the adjustments needed and be ready for Worlds. You’ll see.” He continued walking towards the corridor that led to the press conference, trying not to let the harsh criticism behind his walls. Yakov was basically like a father to Victor, and the disappointment his coach showed him hurt more than he wanted to admit.

His coach’s face turned a deeper crimson as he patted the older Alpha’s shoulder reassuringly. It wasn’t that he wasn’t listening, either; Victor knew the moment his skate left the ice in the combination that he would land wrong. He’d saved it enough not to lose too many points, but the perfectionist in him wanted his audience to experience the feelings he worked to get across as he had intended, not be distracted by a misstep. And his lose footwork was sloppy because his previous landing had tweaked his ankle, and he’d fought through the minor irritation to flourish his steps to wow the crowd.

This season’s skating theme had surprised the audiences and critics alike, and Victor had found he enjoyed the sensation. He couldn’t get enough of their awed gasps and murmured praise. Who else would expect the newly presented Alpha, and graduated new member in the Seniors, to go with ‘Quiet?’ If they had predicted a brash and overtly aggressive program, as most young Alphas were almost expected to do, Victor would break convention. He didn’t need to let others set the tone for him.

The free skate he had just competed with was that of a dying songbird. His costume mimicked the blue feathers and white trim of a Blue Jay with no song left to sing. He had tapped into the loneliness he felt before his newest companion joined him, and it had worked. His sorrowful movements had encapsulated his lamenting heart; he’d spent the performance reliving the strained months leading up to his decision to move and his first nights alone in his big empty condo. Every pose held his anguished silence. He had seen tears in the audience’s eyes as they had watched him spin a simple tale woven of sadness and of being alone.

Heading down the vacant hallway, Victor reflected on his skating. He tuned out his raging coach who was following in his wake. He could not hear the man’s words, nor could he distinguish the press at the end of the solitary passageway.

His love for the ice seemed to separate him from others. No one seemed to understand his need to be there, not his fans, his competitors, or even his coach. It was a feeling he couldn’t describe, so he had skated it. And when he had, it felt like he had unlocked a piece of himself, opened a secret door no one else knew about. It was his alone. And in his new solace, he was isolated. No crowd to please, no other skaters to watch, no coach to mind, just himself in his own world.

He didn’t mind the loneliness that had taken root there. It merely meant he was destined to travel his own path. For who could love the ice as much as him?

 

* * *

 

He coasted through the press conference. Giving what answers he felt fine with giving, the ones Yakov said were alright. The reporters asked the same questions, sought his goals for the next competition, preparations for next seasons, but nosier reporters asked after his private life.

“What do you have planned for the next event, Victor?” one called out. “Going to increase the difficulty of your jumps?”

“Do you have any plans for next season, yet, Victor?”

“How’s the new place? Have any new guests over, yet? Any sleepovers?”

‘Ah-ah-ah,’ he mimed. The room laughed as Victor smirked off the last intrusive comment with a shake of his finger.

“This season is still my focus,” he said into the microphone. His competitors sitting next to him watching him with the same appraisal as the press. Everyone wanted to know. “Yakov and I have discussed adding a quad, but we are still deciding.”

“Anyone else get a say,” the same insistent reporter asked. “There seem to be quite a few interested Betas and Omegas asking, even Alphas, Victor. Anyone special?”

“No, it’s just me and Makkachin right now,” Victor replied to the persistent man. He turned to another member of the press hoping for a subject change, and found it with Morooka Hisashi.

“Your first showing in the Grand Prix landed you Silver. How’s your first gold feel, Victor?” the young Japanese native asked.

He was becoming Victor’s favorite reporter, always interested in the real news and loved the sport. Victor also appreciated the soft-ball question to get them back on track.

“Gold does feel better,” he said with a pleasant smile and was joined by the room in a laugh. “I tried to perfect my jumps, but there is always room for improvement.” He showed his practiced public smile, and cameras flashed him blind. Thankfully after that the interviews continued with his older peers smoothly as he tried to clear his vision.

Once it was over, Yakov lead him along the lines of his waiting fans. They excessively waved their ‘I LOVE VICTOR,’ ‘MRS. NIKIFOROV,’ ‘MARRY ME, VICTOR?,’ and heart covered ‘VIC<3R’ signs.

“Victor!” they cried at seeing his façade.

“Victor Nikiforov! Victor!” others shouted, trying to catch his eye.

He smiled at them, coming to give his autograph and take pictures with them. After all, they had waited until now to see him after the competition. He tried to get to them all, but there were just too many.

He wished they could see his true self, but he knew from watching others in the limelight be eaten alive that his decision to guard himself with this public persona was the right choice. His fans loved his skating, loved his face, loved his money… but they would never love him. He’d never let anyone that close again. They’d only hurt him like his parents, try to control him like his government, love him only skin deep like his other fans.

He’d only allow them to love the image he crafted for them; he’d save his heart the strain and breaks he knew would await him if he ever really did let someone in.

When some rude Omegas in the crowd released a pungently sweet, almost nauseatingly so, mix of pheromones, trying to coerce his attentions, his nose burned, and his eyes teared at the assault.

 “And that’s all for today,” Yakov came to save him from the cloying scents, leading him to a cab. He pushed Victor into the open yellow car, and instructed the driver to their hotel.

“That’s what you get when you stay too long, Vitya. You have to keep moving or they will pin you down,” the older Alpha warned, lifting a hand when Victor opened his mouth to reply. “Trust me, Vitya. I know from experience. Say hello, sign no more than 5 autographs and take no more than two photos. Otherwise the desperate ones get their chance to ensnare you.”

“Hm,” Victor replied, shutting his mouth at the still clinging scent. They rolled down the windows to try and get rid of the smell, but it followed them all the way back to the hotel, finally letting go two blocks from their destination. “Thank you, Yakov,” Victor said as they exited their cab and paid the bill.

“You’ll get used to it,” his mentor promised distractedly, obviously thinking of his time fighting off the unwanted attention that had first started the friction between he had his now estranged wife.

Victor, though, wasn’t sure he wanted to get used to having calculating Omegas tempt him with their noxious scent on top of voracious fans. The older Alpha patted his shoulder as they made their way up the elevator.

“Goodnight,” he said to his coach as they separated, heading off to their own rooms.

“Goodnight, Vitya,” Yakov called. “Remember, we leave in the morning and I expect you to be downstairs at 8am for breakfast before we head to the airport.” When he got no response from the young man, his brow drew together in concern as he said again, “8am, Vitya, not a minute more.”

“Hm. 8am, Yakov? I had wanted to sleep in,” Victor tried to whine to keep his coach from worrying about him.

“8am. And you had better be ready. I will leave without you, Vitya. Don’t think I won’t,” Yakov threatened, letting agitation replace his apprehension.

“Oh course,” Victor promised. “We’ll be ready.” He smiled again at his coach while entering his room before the vein in Yakov’s forehead popped. “Goodnight,” he offered again as the door closed behind him.

The silence that greeted him was a cold reminder of his solitude. It only lasted a moment before Makkachin came bounding towards him from her kennel behind the bed. The excited pup barked once in Victor’s face as furry paws landed on his chest. She liked his truly happy smile. He wasn’t alone anymore. Someone did love him.

“Makkachin, did you miss me?” He asked, pulling her into his chest, letting her comfort the ache there.

 

* * *

 

Worlds was held six weeks later in Tokyo, Japan, and Victor could not help his excitement. He had never been there before, and he was determined to see it all. A distant Yakov had, of course, tried to prevent him from surveying the city on his own, but Victor had slipped away and spent his first full day in Japan seeing the major sites: the observation deck at Tokyo Tower, Tsukiji fish market for lunch and his first sushi (VKUSNO!), the Kaminarimon gate and then into the Sensō-ji Temple, and ending with The Rainbow Bridge.

Tonight was the short program skate, so he had spent all day before the competition resting up. He could admit that he was a little tired from exploring and jetlag, but only slightly; he simply wanted to make sure that he was ready. Morning practice had been accompanied by a fuming Yakov (Victor had only slept in a little), but it all seemed worth it now that the competition was about to start.

With the stadium filling above him, Victor entered the athletes’ preparation space. His red and white Team Russia tracksuit announced his allegiance to the quiet room. Most of the older skaters kept their distance, conversing only among themselves. Victor understood their agitation. They believed the new, young skater was going to be winning the last competitions of their aging careers, and it kept him separate from them. No sense of comradery, no sense of belonging to be had. No song to sing.

On the other hand, the adorable blonde from Switzerland blushed as he approached. His idolizing eyes put Victor into the ‘other’ category, too. Something to look up to, not someone to know, not someone to befriend - an idol. Victor wanted something more, something real, but it was safer for him not to have it.

“Hi, Victor,” the green eyed little cherub greeted. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Hi, Chris, glad you made it,” Victor returned with an honest smile. “Are you ready for your big premier?”

Christophe blushed a little deeper, his eyes sparkling a little more. He nodded his head emphatically at the personal interest.

“Well then, good luck,” Victor replied, patting the boy on the shoulder.

“You too, Victor” the boy grinned, nearly bouncing up and down in his excitement.

With all the athletes’ final preparations in order, they were led to the waiting area before being allowed a six-minute warm-up. As Victor entered the arena, the chill in the air brushed his skin as he cut his way through; it’s briskness set the serious tone of the competition. The excitement of the crowd, numbering in the tens of thousands, was almost palatable in the air.

The smell of the ice was nearly obscured by the crowd and his peers. The masses’ fragrant floral excitement and citric expectation swirled in the air pleasantly. His peers gave off a building current around him; it was heightened with the sparks and crackle of anxious anticipation, almost like the sparks of a bonfire without the effusiveness of smoke. Being signaled forward, the skaters took to the ice. The crowd’s applause followed the Alphas, Betas, and Omega as they circled the rink.

Victor began to lose himself in the sound of ice being cut with his blade. He let the smooth glide calm his mind and loosen his muscles. With every push of his leg, his movement forward was guaranteed. Each additional slide of his skate, brought him more in touch with himself. Building speed and avoiding the other skaters, Victor prepared to jump on the inhale. He tapped his toe and leapt into the air, turning the requisite number of rotations and landing on the inside of his blade.

It was perfect. His mind ran over his short program routine again and again, getting lost in the repetition. The other skaters faded away, and he internally opened the secret door in the depths of his heart, finding his safe haven and center once more. This time, however, it felt new.

An intoxicating smell, something he’d always known, comforted his soul. He basked in the warm it provided, infusing him with the love and joy he’d always sought on the ice. The comforts of frozen water, sweet pea, and lemongrass filled every part of him, cloaked and embraced him.

His heart jolted in his chest, convulsing at a quickened pace that had nothing to do with his activity. His breath caught in his chest before he was able to inhale yet again the sweet aroma he would recognize anywhere. Recognize, but never identify. His eyes flashed open at the thought, fearing any possible absence. Not realizing he’d closed them as he’d dove into the sweet depths, he scanned the rolling crowd for the source. He circled the rink yet again, hearing the one minute tone to let the skaters know they would leave the ice soon.

Nearing a panic, Victor sprinted, searching for the smell of home. Not of a place, but of a person. His person. His Omega. They were here. In this sea of blurred faces, he searched. As his pursuit grew frantic, he followed his instincts letting go of the conscious evaluation of every concerned feature of the crowd. Instead, Victor let his body lead the way, let it guide him to where they were. Where his Omega was.

 

* * *

 

I'm on tumblr under[ storylip](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/storylip)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. Sorry for the delay in posting (Umm.... have I said I'm bad at keeping to a schedule?). I pulled something in my left shoulder, and it's been hard to type. Hope you enjoy this chapter :) Also, I posted a little side story told from Nishigori's pov for what happens during and after Chapter . I've called the story "Apologies." I posted it in the newly created To Follow Fate Series. Oh, and you can check out my Tumblr too, under 'storylip'. Come chat with me there. I'll be posting short little side stories/head canons/random TFF universe stuff. Excited to see you there! I also cross post on Fanfiction under storylip, too, FYI.
> 
> As always, your lovely comments keep my muse busy, so let me know what you think! Actually, this is how Apologies came about. It was a back and forth in the comments section that my muse couldn't put down ;) Thanks possibleplatipus for the spark!


	7. Sorry

“For me?” Yuuri nearly squealed in delight.

“Well, your mother and I agree, you have had a hard year,” Toshya nodded to his son.

“Oh,” the young teen said with less enthusiasm. “Yeah. I guess.”

True, he’d had a difficult time since his presentation. At first, he thought it was going to be the worst year of his life, but it hadn’t been. Although his new status as a rare, too young, male Omega had set off quite a few bouts of teasing at school (being too small, too ugly, too dorky), especially from his senpai in his SED classes (being too young, too naïve, too Omega), he had made it through unharmed. And while the pain of presenting, the fear of almost being bitten, and the shame of his recent false pregnancy were definitely not highlights, they had brought about a few good things, too.

Point in fact, he was now friends with Nishigori Takeshi. His old bully had apologized to him for almost biting him, and they had developed a friendship. A real one. It was different than before he had presented when Takeshi had only hung around at Ice Castle because the older boy had wanted Yuko. While Yuuri was young, he wasn’t dumb. It had always been especially apparent when the older boy had picked on him after Yuko showed him any attention. And now all three of them were friends.

Too, his recent biological fluctuations had prompted his parents to gift him with his cherished puppy, Vic-chan, to take care of. It was kinda embarrassing that in the first few days after he’d gotten his new surrogate, he had coddled and fussed over the puppy. He had swathed his pup in his scented sheets, even his dirty clothes, to cover Vic-chan in his smell. Thankfully having someone to care for had helped stabilized his hormones enough for Okigawa-sensei to feel they could start his new suppressants this past week.

So, it hadn’t been all that bad: A new friend, a new puppy, and now this?

“That’s right, sweetheart,” his mother added. “Minako-sensei and Takano-sensei said that they would go with you.”

“I can really go?” Yuuri looked down as his mother handed over the paper tickets, his heart beating wildly. “I thought I had to stay away from crowds,” he asked. He had just started his new suppressants, and Okigawa-sensei had warned him not to go places with lots of people for at least a month so that their scents would not overwhelm him; too many scents might induce his hormones to spike if he wasn’t careful.

“Yes, sweetheart,” his mother cooed, smiling happily at her son. “Okigawa-sensei said it should be alright. Just be careful and stay with your coaches. Until then you’ll just have to stay inside your room with Vic-chan when you aren’t at school or the rink.”

“Yeay!” Yuuri shouted, jumping up and down in his excitement, clasping the tickets tight to his chest. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he cheered as his parents laughed at his exuberance.

He didn’t care if they laughed. He was going to the World Championship for figure skating in Tokyo! He was going to get to see Victor skate in person!

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later, he and his coaches arrived in Tokyo, all three of them excited for the outing. Since it was his first trip to the capital, Minako-sensei suggested they visit a few places after they check into their hotel this morning.

“Um… I want to see the Tokyo Tower,” Yuuri hesitantly pleaded, “and the Rainbow Bridge.”

“Alright,” Takano-sensei nodded his greying-hair. His kind smile smoothing his wrinkled face. “But we’ll have to wait until after it gets dark,” the old man chuckled.

“Oooh, we should do lunch at Tsukiji fish market,” Minako-sensei chimed in. Her delighted brown eyes lit up below her long brown hair.

“What about you, Takano-sensei? What would you like to see?” Yuuri asked his skating coach.

“Hmm, perhaps the Kaminarimon gate and on through to Sensō-ji Temple,” the Beta offered.

“That sounds nice, sensei,” Yuuri agreed. “I’d like to see the temple, too.”

With a confirming nod from both his teachers, they led the way to the hotel with Yuuri happily following.

Throughout the day, though, he kept feeling restless, like he was missing something that was just out of reach, something familiar he couldn’t name.

At Tokyo Tower, when they rode up to the observation platform, his mind couldn’t focus on the attraction. Instead, he felt a little off. Not bad, just off. His skin pricked to attention and he could feel his eyes dilate when he thought he smelled something familiar. It was only a whiff, gone the moment he tried to recognize it. Was someone in the group passing him wearing too much perfume, or maybe his uneasiness was from being in a crowd because his doctor had warned him? He hoped he’d be fine enough to see Victor skate tomorrow night.

“Yuuri?” Minako-sensei asked. Her concern showing in her tone.

“Hmm?” He replied, shaking his disorientation, and smiling at her.

“You ok?” she asked, assessing his slightly heightened scent.

“Sure. I’ve never been so high up before,” he said, turning to the vista. “There sure are a lot of people here.” He looked around the twelve-foot tall windowed area. It wrapped around 180 degrees with visitors wondering around to get the wide view of the capitol.

“Of course, there are, silly. This is one of Tokyo’s main attractions,” she said, seeming to be placated. “It’s known all over the world.”

“That’s right,” Takano-sensei commented as he stood next to the ballet instructor, “Minako-sensei, you were an international dancer, right?”

“Yes, I was,” she said as the two watched Yuuri wander to the edge of the observation deck, continuing their conversation without him.

He walked under the ceiling’s strung up twinkle lights to get a better view. There was a free space in the crowd at the glass, and Yuuri wanted to see the skyline. Surprisingly, when he looked down, there was a section of the floor made of thick glass, showing a startling view of one Tower Leg’s intricate red metal lattices woven together above a silver base at the corner of the green trees and the busy road below. The shock from the height allowing his nose and mind to clear. What a view!

Next, they walked Tsukiji fish market for lunch. Mismatching awnings covered both sides of the small walkways between busy stalls. Yuuri was surprised there was no fishy smell.

“That’s because it’s so fresh,” Takano-sensei chuckled. The old Beta happy to see his student getting to see more of the world than their sea-side home.

Yuuri took another deep sniff and found himself again distracted by a fleeting and subtle trace of something his conscious mind couldn’t detect. He tried to follow along with his coaches’ conversation as they continued down the crowded path, but their words seemed lost to him. Something was nagging at him, something he couldn’t place, but thought he should know. He tried to concentrate, focus in on what had caught his attention among the smell of iced fish knitted through the loud clatter of vendors and shoppers until Minako-sensei touched his shoulder. Absently, he wondered if Victor liked fish.

“Hey, Yuuri, what about this place?” she said leaning in to his ear to be heard above the cacophony of the market.

“Sure,” he agreed, not really paying attention nor noticing his coaches’ shared glance of apprehension.

Later at the Kaminarimon gate, Sensō-ji Temple, and Rainbow Bridge he kept getting distracted. Frustrated, at not being able to put his finger on what was tingling in his brain, he gave up and just followed where his coaches went, wondering inattentively if Victor had ever been to this place or liked that. They ended the night with dinner in their hotel room, for which Yuuri was grateful. At least here, he could focus here.

“Is everything alright?” Takano-sensei asked. “You seemed distracted all day, Yuuri.”

“Was it the crowds?” Minako-sensei asked. “Was it too much?” She pursed her lips then flailed her arms around above her head. “Maybe we should stay in the room and head back in the morning.”

“Wait! No! I’m fine,” Yuuri yelled, raising his eyes to meet hers. “I want to watch Victor skate. He’s my Alpha. I have to!” Oh, no. He’d hadn’t meant to say that, but he was here and so was Victor. He couldn’t go home before seeing him.

“Now, Yuuri,” the old Beta male beside him said in a disapproving tone. “I know you look up to Victor as a skater, but do not mistake your admiration for a dynamic claim.”

“But…” Yuuri began, trying to explain what he had known to be true since he’d presented. “But he is.”

“Yuuri,” Minako-sensei began, looking at Takano-sensei for help. “Sometimes we think we are attracted to celebrities, but they are just people. People who deserve their private lives without others trying to claim them.”

“I know,” Yuuri said, putting down his chopsticks and placing his hands in his lap, sadness filling his voice. “That’s why he’s so lonely.”

Silently, his coaches looked at each other, eyes full of alarm.

“Yuuri,” Takano-sensei’s soothing voice tried again, “why do you think that?”

“I can just tell,” Yuuri shrugged, not looking at either of them. He had watched all of his Alpha’s performances, read or saw all of the interviews. He wasn’t obsessed, like some people he saw commenting online or television, but he cared about Victor. True he had posters plastered all over his walls, but that was because it helped him feel closer to his Alpha than he could actually be.

Even if Yuuri was unworthy of his mate (for any of the reasons he’d been picked on for - he knew they were true, too), he understood, could see, the stress and false face Victor put on, and every time it hurt his heart, especially because he had no way to make it better.

“And is that because you think he is your mate?” the old Beta asked smoothly.

“Uh-huh,” Yuuri answered then pursed his lips, fiddling his fingers. He hadn’t meant to say anything to his coaches about it; he’d only told Yuko and Takeshi, and thankfully they had believed him since they were there when he presented. Right now, though, he was unprepared; it had just slipped out. “But I doubt he’d want me,” he muttered to himself. He shook his head, and continued aloud, “I just want to watch him be free on the ice,” he said wistfully. Raising his eyes to meet theirs, he begged, “Please? I just want to see him skate.”

“Hm,” Takano-sensei replied, thinking over the request. “I don’t see a problem with us going to the arena tomorrow…”

“But sensei…” Minako-sensei argued.

“So long as Yuuri promises to leave at the first signs that he is feeling overwhelmed by the crowd. I will not have you overdo it, Yuuri. You need to let your body adjust, and if I suspect that the crowd is too much for you, we will leave, understood?”

“Yes, I promise I’ll tell you,” Yuuri nodded with a smile on his lips. “So, we can go, right, Minako-sensei?” He pleaded with her. He knew he needed both on board, and was scared to admit that he might not be able to see Victor because of his own shortcomings.

“Alright, but you have to tell us at the first signs, Yuuri. I mean it.” She said, but the coaches dropped the topic of mates. For now.

“Yeay!” the young Omega cried out. His heart was thrilled knowing he’d get to see Victor tomorrow. In person. His Alpha.

 

* * *

 

 That night and all the next day until the competition, they stayed in the room. His coaches agreed that Yuuri should use the extra rest to reduce the risk of being affected by the crowd at the competition.

They arrived early, allowing Minako-sensei time to shop for official merchandise. Yuuri, too, excitedly bought another Victor poster for his growing collection, and Takano-sensei merely smiled at his younger counter-part and student’s enthusiasm. They also bought concessions before finding their seats with plenty of time to watch the Junior’s competition before the Senior’s started.

“Imagine, Yuuri,” Takano-sensei said, “you could be down there in a year’s time…”

“Really sensei?” the young Omega asked with hope. “You think I can?”

“If you put in the effort, my boy,” Takano-sensei relied to his bouncing student.

“I want to! I really do! I’ll do my best!” Yuuri promised.

“I believe you can, Yuuri,” the aging man said, smiling his approval at the young teen.

“You’re going to have to work twice as hard in the studio and on the rink, you know,” Minako-sensei added.

“I will. Will you help me?” Yuuri pleaded with his whole heart on display. He wanted to skate on the ice with Victor one day, and if his coaches thought he’d be ready to enter the Junior League by next year, he’d take that as a stepping stone to his dream. He would do anything to make that happen.

“Of course,” Minako-sensei smiled at his request. “We’ll start increasing your practice time as soon as we get back.”

“And you can start preparing now by really looking at each of your future competitors,” Takano-sensei said. “Look at their technical and performance elements, Yuuri. Think how your skills compare. We will start by analyzing what we see. How could you incorporate their strengths or learn from their weaknesses?”

“Yes, sensei,” Yuuri nodded seriously, taking everything his coaches had to say to heart. He did not notice that his coaches shared a relieved look that their plan to distract Yuuri from the growing crowd was working. They had formulated their strategy after Yuuri’s difficulties yesterday and their conversation over dinner last night.

Yuuri watched his potential rivals as they performed. He took note of what he could see, and asked his coaches for their analyses after each athlete finished their skate. Then, realizing now that the Juniors had finished competing, his excitement peaked. It was time for the Seniors to take to the ice.

The announcements were made, indicating that the Senior competitors had six minutes for a warm up before their short program event would begin. Six professional athletes skated onto the ice, but Yuuri only had eyes for one.

Victor took to the ice in his Team Russia warm ups. The edges of his white costume peeking out beneath the cuffs of his jacket. His silvery hair was styled back into a French braid down his back that curled around his shoulder. It was elegant and wistful.

His strong features were beautiful. Aquamarine eyes glittered in the light, truer in real life than the amazing shade ever looked captured through a lens. Crème skin called to him, and Yuuri wished he could reach out to sweep his hand across Victor’s cheek. His strong jaw and large forehead did not detract from his beauty, instead enhancing it. His thin lips smiled playfully to the audience, but all Yuuri could do was stare and feel his heart coo. Elegant hands swayed to the internal song Victor danced to, flowing honeysuckle, ice, and brine into Yuuri’s soul.

Cool fingers traced the air, and Yuuri was lost. When he had seen Victor the first time, the world had jumbled together into a mess of color and shape, everything but Victor. Now, it was as if the world fell away calmly and all that was left was the angle on ice. Yuuri’s reason for being was circling the rink with care and dedication in his steps, and all Yuuri could do was breath.

“Yuuri, stop it!”

“Yuuri! Don’t!”

Rough hands clasped him then. Harsh sounds found him as he was pushed and maneuvered out of his seat by steady, firm hands. Confused, and unable to look away from his center of gravity, he noticed a sharp change in his Alpha. Victor was no longer smooth lines and calm waters; he was agitated energy.

Had Yuuri made him mad?

His vision was being blocked as he was corralled into the hall, out of the main arena, down the main corridor and into another, smaller passageway. His eyes tried to adjust to the repetitive blank walls as he was carried into a white room. Someone was shouting, no, someones. There was too much noise for just one person.

He recognized the calming balm of Takano-sensei’s Beta scent and Minako-sensei’s Alpha dominance as she took control of the situation. Too soon, cool sharp pain hit his neck, and Yuuri could feel his overwhelmed senses dull, become greyed and less intense. He could now tell that he was in the emergency medical station of the arena. The staff and his coaches were watching him as his eyes fought to stay open.

He had just wanted to see his Alpha, and now he had made him mad. It was no wonder Victor would be. Yuuri was not worthy of him, had accidentally let himself call out, had let himself interrupt his mate. He hadn’t even recognized he’d done anything until he could smell Victor, as if the older teen had been right next to him, that they had been the only two people in the world. Yuuri’s behavior was unacceptable, he knew that, or thought he did as everything became hazy and dim. In the moments before his consciousness left him, he was able to get out one word.

“Sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. Again, I'm bad at posting on time, but this one took me a little while. I had the bare bones, but it was missing something. Hopefully you'll like it and not kill me (hahaha). 
> 
> Thank you for all your wonderful comments. I think I was able to reply t them all, but if I missed you, I'll try to get to you this week. They really do feed my muse! So, let me know what you think. I know a lot of people were hoping for a meet up this chapter, so was this chapter acceptable instead? Another cliff hanger (because I am evil- Muahahaha!) to tide you over until next week! ;) Also, my arm is better, so thanks for your kind comments :)


	8. Ice, Sweet Pea and Lemongrass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, I have included Victor's program music for your listening enjoyment as you read his program. It helps set the tone for me (really gets to my heart), but you don't have to listen if you don't want to... Just saw that Reiya does this for their stories in their Rivals AU (wonderful AU if you haven't read it yet- linked at the bottom). Just giving credit where I got the idea because I'm academic nerd (and it's ingrained in my bones to cite) and have no advantage of linking their story.

Nearing a panic, Victor sprinted, searching for the smell of home. Not of a place, but of a person. His person. His Omega. They were here. In this sea of blurred faces, he searched. As his pursuit grew frantic, he followed his instincts letting go of the conscious evaluation of every concerned feature of the crowd. Instead, Victor let his body lead the way, let it guide him to where they were. Where his Omega was.

He reached the boards on the same side he’d entered the ice from, unconsciously drawn to the source of his Omega’s scent. They were here. Really here. Desperation fueled him as he continued his wild hunt, his movement forward impeded by the whitewashed wood barrier.

There was no time to take in the concern characteristics of the throng, nor their surprised murmurs. All he knew was that his mate was here. Every ounce of his loneliness, the all-consuming ache in his soul, seemed to both be soothed by the balm of frozen water, sweet pea, and lemongrass as well as highlight the depths of his longing.

Jumbled shouts and agitated buzz surrounding him filled his ears. The cacophony of the arena was white noise as he let instinct guide him. Their words lost to him.

Indistinct sour citrus of the crowd’s excitement becoming mounting alarm spiked in front of him. This too he pushed aside in search of the one he had never met but who smelled of home. He growled low in his chest at the approaching Alpha scent, warning off the threat to his mate. Whipping his head in their direction, it took him a second to recognize his aging coach.

“Vitya,” the Russian warhorse called calmly, his hands raised as he slowly approached.

Victor growled again, still warding off the potential competition for his mate’s attention. It didn’t matter in this moment that the old Alpha was like a father to him; his unclaimed mate was near, and he had to reach them before anyone else.

“Calm down, Vitya. Everything’s going to be okay,” the man said, trying to sooth Victor’s obvious agitation. Slowly, the wrinkled man sniffed the air, to another growl from his student. Whatever the coach identified made him frown before angry resignation colored his features. “It’s not real, Vitya. What your smelling is an Omega’s desperation to sink their claws into you; it’s not real.”

“It is,” Victor bit out sharply, clawing his fingernails into the wood divider. “I know he’s here.”

“He?” Yakov asked, obviously surprised by the pronoun. Scents were unisex, and in this crowd, indistinguishable, or rather they should be.

“Yes. He,” Victor hissed through gritted teeth his eyes still searching the crowd. His own determination of his mate’s primary gender did not deter him from his pursuit, but the scent was fading and his desperation was building with its loss.

“Vitya,” his coach tried again, but this time slowly withdrawing something from an interior jacket pocket. The slower approach went unnoticed as Victor keened with the disappearing surety he felt moments ago. He knew his coach would not lie to him. “Let me help you find yourself. Let me help you clear your head.”

The warmth that had enraptured his soul was fading, and it left ragged edges in its place. He tried to gain control of himself, knowing the old Alpha’s honest scent was trying to convince him of the truth as Yakov saw it. His instincts shouted at him of the truth no one could deny, but his clearing mind tried to sway him with logic and his father figure’s words.

In the next moment, Yakov was there in front of him, slowly raising a slim tube to Victor’s face. The salve broke the hold the intoxicating scent had over him. Blinking at the sudden clarity, Victor didn’t move as his coach applied a topical deodorizer to his upper lip. He could smell nothing now. Not the scent of tainted excitement from the crowd, not the comfort and strength of his coach, and definitely not the warmth and joy that had captivated him. There was nothing, and his stomach bottomed out. Their loss had cleared his head and stopped his frantic search, but the underlying truth was still there.

“Yakov,” Victor said hoarsely, shaking his head and clearing his throat. “Yakov, it was real. I … I know it was,” he nearly pleaded looking up into stone cold eyes. “He’s here. My Omega is here. I have to find him.”

“No, Vitya. You have to perform,” his coach said placing his hands over Victor’s. He pried the younger Alpha’s clinched fingers from the boards and squeeze gently, taking in the officials’ call for Victor to begin his short program. “It is your time to shine on the ice, not to be swayed by the under-handed attempts of unruly and manipulative ploys. Will you let disingenuous prospectors lead you around by the nose? Or will you do what you came here to do?”

Victor let the words sink in. Yakov’s logic warred with his instincts. He knew that his mentor’s argument was for his protection against the ravages that had plagued the older Alpha’s own experiences. Thinking on it, last month, as he had left the Warsaw press conference he himself had been bombarded by uncouth Omegas trying to win his attention. At the time, he had been shocked by the blatant appeals, but this had been different. There was no expectation, or want, or manipulation in the call of home. There’d only been warmth and joy to be shared somewhere here in Tokyo.

With the official’s approach, he knew he was out of time to persuade the stoic blockade that Yakov presented. With a wounded heart, Victor could see no way forward except to do as asked. But he could not leave it there.

“After I’m done, you have to let me search for him,” Victor begged forcefully, knowing he only had seconds before it was his turn on the ice. The disgruntled older Alpha crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at the plea. Victor squeezed their still joined hands with his determination and resolve, and he saw for the first time a grudging capitulation in Yakov’s eyes.

At the agreement, Victor quickly removed his bright red warm-ups, handing them to his coach. He spun and took to the center of the arena, not wishing to waste any more time before he was free to search in earnest. His short program performance lasted two minutes and 50 seconds, and he was unwilling to sacrifice a second more. He’d waited all his life to belong, and there was no way he would let the chance slip through his fingers.

Quiet descended upon the arena. The lights glinted off his sequenced torso, his legs clad in white. With stillness and surety, he held the audiences’ breath in his opening pose, waiting for the [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hfcZheDtUXc).

A single, solitary string of a sorrowful cello sung out, and Victor floated across the ice. Slowly, other cords followed, supporting his elegant portrayal of a drifting snow flake gently swirling in the deepest night. Sliding his skates forward, his sweeping arms trailed behind him languidly, moving him along the diagonal. Using a Rocker, he turned on a single foot, forwards to backwards, maintaining the outside edge of his blade. Coming out of the corner of the rink backwards, he crossed his feet to gain momentum before turning yet again to face forward. His smooth glide, providing his feet the placid pace to build the proof of his solitude.

He had chosen “Quiet” as this season’s theme, and what was more silent than a drifting speck of snow alone in the darkness? His calm demeanor mocked his loneliness, in the sway of strings. Building his speed, thinking of the fear at losing his mate’s scent forever instead of the abandonment by his parents to fuel his stroking, he used the fluid movement to gain velocity by pushing from the inside edge of one skate to the other. His arms stretched out to his missing mate, trying to encapsulate his need to take his Omega in his arms.

Sinking at the emptiness he found in the hollow embrace, he twirled into his combination spin. Finding the ache in his heart where his mate should be, he nearly crumpled with sorrow. His true companion was here, and Yakov’s denouncement of the claim broke his heart. The denial of such a universal truth gripped his soul unforgivingly. No. He would find him. He was out there in the crowd, or had been.

Gliding fluidly forward, Victor despaired at his lack of smell. His true mate’s aroma felt heady in his memory. He had only had moments to come to the conclusion that despite them both being present, the scent had begun to fade even before Yakov applied the scent blocking balm. The thought crushed his fragile heart.

Had his mate run from him? Nearly in tears at the possibility, Victor began his step sequence. He poured his longing into the building melody.

‘Come back,’ he implored with his movements, hoping that his mate would hear his soul’s call. ‘Come back! We’re here. Together. Please,’ he begged. How could his soul’s other half abandon him here, among the crowds? How could Victor find him? To convince him to stay? Speeding up his skate, his movements became desperate. ‘Please!’ He begged, stretching out of hands, reaching for empty space. ‘Don’t leave! Don’t leave me!’

Rising to the high-pitched pull of the strings, Victor’s desperate pleas went unanswered. He sped across the ice with the ramped-up anxiety the notes set. In the next breath, he lept into silence with a quadruple toe loop, unsure where the secretly practiced move came from. It held all his hidden wants and desires, all his empty heart could never openly ask for. It held hope.

He landed with finality, flowing into a smooth glide. Shock filled the baited breath of the arena as his final moments returned him to the center ice.

When the music stopped, his world came flooding back in. The spell he had cast over the stunned crowd seemed to break in an instant; their cheers shattering the quiet his performance had inspired, and there was almost uproar.

In the space of his finishing breaths, he wished he could scent the air, wondering if his mate had heard his soul’s call. Skating to the edge of the rink, Victor could see Yakov waiting for him, an unfamiliar set to the usually unforgiving features of the old man’s face. Surprise and resignation sat boldly in the lines of his coach, and Victor knew the Alpha had understood his heart’s pleas. Understood, but disagreed.

Without a word, Yakov helped him change at the kiss and cry. While the rules stipulated that performers must sit for their scores, the student and his teacher disregarded any degree of decorum while there. Their silent agreement from before Victor’s skate told the young man that he had won the right to search of his heart’s match. As soon as his shoes and tracksuit were on, he nearly bounded from his sitting position, but Yakov’s steady hand lay upon his, holding him until the announcement of his scores. Victor nearly snarled at being held back, but he had a job to do, and he understood his role. It killed him, but he understood. He was only as free as his world allowed him to be.

Loud echoes of his score reverberated before the crowd swelled again, but Victor didn’t hear it. All he could feel was the rhythm of his heart in his ears as his anticipation of the search beckoned him forward. Yakov’s hand released him, and he was off.

He couldn’t hear the earth-shattering announcement that he had broken another world record. Couldn’t hear his name over the audio system. Couldn’t hear the fans shouting their awe of his accomplishment. All he could hear was his heart beat demanding his speed.

Running alongside the rink to the side of the stands he had first discovered the scent, Victor took the stairs two, almost three at a time. His nose was no use, so he rubbed his upper lip trying to remove the nose-numbing effects. He knew the stadium was fit with deodorizers, and he wondered absently why he was able to scent his mate’s iced sweet pea and lemongrass when the only smells he had previously picked up were the overall crowd’s excitement and his competitors’ anticipation. It was just more proof that his true mate was here.

It was almost like the fairy tales he’d heard where the triumphant Alpha found his true mate at the top of a sacred mountain, waiting for only him. Except, he frowned, his mate’s scent had been dissipating before Yakov tried to help him clear his head with the scent blocker. Had his mate really run from him? Was he chasing someone who did not wish to be found? His steps stumbled, and fans reached out to him, either to help or just lay hands on him, he had no idea. He just knew he had to keep going.

Reaching the first leveled opening where he had originally searched, he tracked, becoming frantic again. Could he find him? Did he want to be found?

‘Please, oh, please, be here still. Let me find you,’ his soul cried out.

Victor tried to push away the thoughts his mind conjured up as to why his mate would run. The young alpha was rich and famous, or at least on his way; would Victor’s mate not want to have the limelight shine on him? Why would someone who was meant to be with him leave? Pangs in his heart sparked as he thought of his parents, and a cold chill ran down his spine. If his parents could leave him, what would stop his one true mate?

His age might also be a barrier; would his mate be too young? Too old? So what if his mate was? Victor could wait for him to grow up or wait to grow up in return. Would his mate wait for him?

What if he was from another country? This was an international sport with international fans that flew in to see competitions all over the world, after all, and he was currently in Japan. Would Victor’s mate see the distance as too much?

It didn’t matter the reason Victor’s mate’s scent had decreased before he could be found. Victor would find him, would convince him to talk, to stay, to listen.

His breathing came in gasps, and his arm worked furiously at his upper lip as he climbed to the mezzanine. Fans and spectators stared at him, shouting their praise and jubilation, but he could only search. Their voices were lost to him. He scrubbed his upper lip harder.

Victor ran through the aisle ways letting instinct guide him. His sense of smell was slowly coming back, but everything was muted, and time had passed, and Mate’s scent was weak, and, and…

Ice, sweet pea, and lemongrass wafted by his nose…

Yes! That was it! Victor took off running as the crowd around him cheered. He was definitely going to hear from Yakov about discretion and starting international incidences, but he didn’t care. His mate was here!

He kept running. Startled faces looked at him, but the trail wasn’t gone completely. It was here. He was here.

Victor breathed deeply, filling his lungs to the max, letting them burn for all he cared. Mate. Mate was here. He was here.

Following his instincts, Victor rushed on. Running down one hall to the next, no thought for what a scene he was causing, he followed ice, sweet pea, and lemon grass.

His legs pushed him on, feeling his muscles stretch and burn as he moved forward.

‘Please stay,’ his soul called.

Through blurred vision, he passed blank walls.

‘Don’t leave,’ his heart pleaded.

Echoes of his crazed steps sounded down the halls.

‘Please, Mate, please,’ his entire being begged, ‘don’t leave me all alone.’

He rounded a final corner into what he recognized as the first aid station.

‘Was Mate hurt? Is that why he left?’ Fear radiated through his body, adrenaline spiking his system. ‘No! No! Mate. Mate! Be safe! Please!’

Careening into the large white room, Victor stunned the staff. He had no voice, he was panting too hard. There were two nurses, a doctor, and three paramedic staff; all were Japanese and Betas, for which Victor was thankful. He was still on edge, though, so there must be another Alpha around somewhere. Whatever. That didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting to Mate. But they were all standing at the little table in front of the corridor where the scent of Mate was calling to him.

‘Mate, Mate!’ His soul shouted, and maybe a small yip escaped his throat. He couldn’t be sure, but the staff’s wide eyes probably meant he was trying to speak instinctually, calling his mate, hoping Mate could hear him, that Mate was safe.

A hand shot out and grabbed him as he tried to brush past them down the back hallway to what he assumed were private rooms, his mate’s scent guiding him home.

“You cannot go back there,” a stern, accented English tried to stop him. “What do you need? What is wrong? We are here to help.”

Victor fought, shaking the well-meaning man off. He nearly fell against the wall behind him in the struggle.

“M-” he tried to breathe. “Ma-Mate!” he huffed in his best English.

The staff looked at him in concern. Alpha or not, it was rare for someone in their teens to claim to be mated.

“Where is your mate? Do they need help? What happened?” a nurse stepped forward into the big room from the hall with her hands up, like she was approaching a wounded animal, trying to calm him enough to get more information.

Victor could only point down the hall, and all their eyes followed his finger. He used their distraction to bowl his way through, hands reached for him, but he broke free. Slipping through, he ran the corridor to the third room, reaching out his hand for the handle, and swinging it open.

The small white room was empty. Empty, but still filled with Mate’s scent.

Mate, where did you go?

 

* * *

 

 

 

[Reiya's Rivals series link](http://archiveofourown.org/series/620242) where I got the idea to include program music in the story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok... so many things to apologize for. 
> 
> First, sorry. I know a lot of you were hoping they'd meet this chapter, but no one is allowed to throw things at me for the way this shook out. Seriously (hahahahaha). The story I want to write feels like it has these moments in it that sparked the reason I am writing this, and if they had met this chapter, I would be telling a very different story, a much much shorter story than I think we deserve to see. Hopefully, you will all forgive me! ;)
> 
> Second, I know I left you all hanging (again I suck at updates, so... I'm super-duper sorry; life happened - 'nough said). 
> 
> Oh, and thank you to everyone! This story has gotten just over 11k views here and nearly 9.6k views on FF!! Freaking awesome! Thank you so much!! Just thought I would tell you all how much you mean to me! THANK YOU for reading and commenting!!!
> 
> On another note, I'm going to be at AnimeMidwest in Chicago July 7-9 (not as a guest or artist or anything- I'm just going because there is going to be a Yuri!!! On Ice panel with MAPPA, voice actors, and one of the producers). If anyone else is going to be there, it'd be great to meet you in person, so message me ;) My tag literally says 'storylip' ;) So excited.
> 
> Also, I tried to get the timing down for the beautiful music and Victor’s movements, but I read really slowly, so the timing is probably really off. Hahahaha.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this and come back for more!


	9. Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Yuuri refused to cooperate more than this (my awful writter's block has only allowed this so far - grrr), so I stopped waiting for him to say more and decided you all had waited long enough for his return. 
> 
> Since it has been a while, here's a short summary:  
> Yuuri and Victor instinctively react to each other's scents at the World's competition in Tokyo, and before Victor can find his unidentified true mate, Yuuri's unaware coaches take him off for medical care! 
> 
> And now, without further ado...

Again

“Again,” Yuuri pleaded, panting heavily. He wiped at the sweat rolling down his forehead, flattening his hair to his head. Beads of perspiration slid down his neck to travel along the curve of his back. “Please, sensei. Let me.”

Appraising eyes looked Yuuri over while he tried to catch his breath. Beyond the additional practice Yuuri was doing after hours at Ice Castle, he knew he was pushing his coaches to match his determination.

Ever since he had woken up in a Tokyo hospital, the young Omega had been beside himself with anger and guilt. After embarrassing his mate, his coaches, and himself by interrupting Victor’s preparations for his short program, he had refused to speak to the doctors or his coaches except to say he wanted to go home. While he was released when his bloodwork came back normal, Yuuri was full of shame at having fallen to his biology once more, causing his mate and coaches to lose face at his loss of control.

So angry with himself, he had silently packed his bags when he and his escorts returned to the hotel, and was ready to leave for home within the hour. His coaches hadn’t known how to handle their cold charge, but he couldn’t face their kind care. On the ride back to the sleepy seaside town, their concerned attempts to find out the source of his self-loathing was only met with nothingness, an austere, deafeningly quiet wall. Without a word, he had held back his tears, refusing to let them fall on the long train ride home, saving them for the privacy of his room.

Yuuri had forgone talking for the next few days, choosing instead to seclude himself in his rebuilt nest, Vic-chan his only companion. He had let all the self-recriminations circulate through his mind for days. His lack of self-control was disgraceful. His audacity in allowing his body to call out to his mate unbidden was shameful, nearly causing an international incident while embarrassing his mate.

He had let his anger, embarrassment and humiliation fuel his self-pity. Falling asleep in his soft nested bed after having sobbed himself into restless oblivion, he only woke up to repeat the same bitter cycle. After the third day, his endless tears ran dry.

He had no excuses to offer himself, much less those around him. His mate was perfection incarnate, all cool grace, vital strength, and aquamarine confidence. His coaches spent countless hours working his still pudgy self to make him soar on the ice. His family was supportive, even if they continued to not understand the technical aspects of either of his chosen sports. They were all ever present in his life, but Yuuri didn’t deserve their unwavering backing.

Yuuri’s failings would never measure up to their kindness. His weak body fought him at every turn. Not only had he presented early and had a false pregnancy, but he continuously failed to suppress his uncontrolled nature. It was no excuse that he was young. He could not allow himself to blame his dynamic, his genes, or his biology. He was who he was: an undisciplined Omega. Nothing he could do would change what he was, but he would control those things he could.

Having purged his self-reproaches, a calm determination had settled in his soul in their place.

He’d decided that enough was enough. Never in his life would he again allow his dynamic to force his loss of control. Never would he again disgrace his mate, his family, his coaches, or himself. Never would he again let biology dictate his life. He would act as he chose, make his own way. He would decide his own fate, to hell with his nature.

Now, on the ice, Yuuri caught the capitulation in Takano-sensei’s eyes under his own steadfast gaze. He nodded his resolve at the old Beta, grateful for his skating coach’s strength.

Again. He would run through the triple Axel once again. Again and again until he perfected it. Until he was perfect.

He paid the bystanders no mind, as he gained speed for the spin once more. Sharp cold air clawed at his lungs, as the chilled oxygen scraped deep into his lungs as he exerted himself. Pushing off from the forward outside edge of his skate and leaping into nothingness, Yuuri spun. His arms clutched tightly to his chest, his racing heart thundered in the baited silence.

One and a half… two and a half… and finally, three and a half rotations. Expelling his lungsful of air, he touched down, landing shakily on the back outside edge of his other foot, barely catching his balance before his fingers could brush the ice.

Almost.

Almost, yet…

Not enough.

Not good enough.

Damn it all. Yuuri’s eyes stung from the bitter frigid air, gasping for breath and gritting his bared teeth.

Again.

Again and again.

This was something he could do, something he would do. He would be good enough. Enough to deserve his mate, his family and his coaches. He would.

Now… again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so writer's block is kicking my ass, but if you feed my muse with your wonderful comments, maybe we can get her moving again?
> 
> I am on ff (where this is also cross-posted) and tumblr under 'storylip.'
> 
> Come chat with me about this Omegaverse and see side stories or ramblings on tumblr.


	10. Time

“Welcome back to our Pre-Olympic Skate Show! I am Morooka Hisashi, and I am joined by current Worlds’ champion, Victor Nikiforov, and my cohost, Michelle Hamilton, the retired gold medalist in Women’s Single Figure Skating.” The Beta host’s messy brown hair was wild and untamable, while his round brown eyes lit with excitement as he continued in English. “We are counting down the hours to the most anticipated event of this year’s winter games: The Men’s Singles Figure Skating!” He finally took a breath, “Hello, Victor. Thank you for being here with us today.”

“Hello, Morooka, Michelle,” Victor said in his best English (it was their only shared language after all). He grinned the current iteration of his public smile for the worldwide audience. “And hello, to those at home! Thanks for having me!” Waving to the camera, Victor tilted his head and let the lights twinkle off his eyes for the viewers, knowing full-well their effect.

“Well, considering you seem to be the man to beat this year, how are you handling your first Olympics? And at 18 years old, no less?” the Japanese sports caster asked.

“You know, ever since I put on skates as a child, I knew I wanted to be on the Olympic ice, so it is a dream that is coming true for me,” Victor said. His coach had prepared a few practice questions he would be expected to answer, not that he had read any of Yakov’s notes more than once. “I have always wanted to skate on this international stage.”

“Well, you certainly aren’t a stranger to winning international competitions, Victor,” Michelle chimed in with a predatory look in her brown eyes that were hidden beneath a frame of dyed blond hair. It unnerved him, but if it wasn’t for Morooka, he never would have said yes to this interview. The man had saved him one too many times at press conferences to not repay the favor. The Alpha female co-host with flashing, unnaturally white teeth, however, was making him reconsider talking to the nosey American. “It was only last season when you set yet another world record in Tokyo!” she squealed for the global throngs behind the camera. “There were rumors floating around after your performance, when you ran off. It was almost a transnational episode, some might say, that followed that skate. Care to tell us what happened?”

No. Victor would rather not share being left in a puddle of tears by his true mate, thank you very much. Instead, he was saved by the man sitting to his left.

“Having been there, Michelle, I can tell you I was more enthralled, and I bet the world would agree with me, by his performance rather than his leaving early. Tell us, Victor, do you think we will get to see another spectacular performance from you?”

“I will definitely try my best, Morooka,” Victor promised, thankful for the save, but still feeling the weight sit over his chest.

“Awe, no fair, you two!” Michelle play pouted with laughing chestnut eyes that ruined her act at being hurt over their verbal dodge. “Off the ice gossip is just part of the fame, am I right, Victor?” She laughed, and bumped his shoulder with hers. “If you aren’t going to share why you ran off in Tokyo, then weigh in on the International Skating Federation’s newest ruling on scent blockers. What do you think the new guidelines will mean for the sport? I hear Christoph Giacometti is a close friend of yours. What are his thoughts on the ruling?”

Damn. She’d cornered him. Hmph. What was he supposed to say? The truth, obviously, but his public image could only protect him from the ravenous media if he protected it. Yakov had mentioned something in those note cards about avoiding condemning the ISF for their decisions, but he guessed his opinion was necessary this time. Maybe a politic answer?

The ISF had decided last month, just on the cusp of the Olympic games, that it would now only require private disclosure of a skater’s dynamic to the Federation (for health and public safety reasons) instead of making it public, as had been their practice since the Federation had formed in the early 1890s. It would now require all competitors use scent blockers and wear scent blocking material for their costumes, where they had simply recommended it before. As a compromise, however, the ISF would allow Omegas to choose between wearing either a collar or using suppressants.

Victor felt the new bylaws gave false modesty to those competitors who still wished to wear their collars because no one wanted to be the obvious Omega on the uni-dynamic ice. Chris had told him privately that it made no difference to him so long as he could skate. For Victor, though, he could only foresee one outcome; if no other competitor disclosed their secondary gender, no one in their right mind would willingly stand apart. To put themselves at intentional disadvantage? No. Victor couldn’t see another result. The ISF would get their competing Omegas to use suppressants, just as they did now, only this time under the banner of fairness; a claim no one could refute.

On the other side of this unfortunate arrangement, he hoped dynamics would play less of a role in any preconceived biases the judges might have had before. It had been whispered, but never mentioned out loud, at least not publicly, until now, but Alpha privilege continued to play a role in professional sports. Only in the last 50 years had anyone even seen the questioned inclusion of Omega sports figures in competition on co-ed teams or as individual athletes.

After his true mate had left without a word in Japan’s capital, Victor had had plenty of Omega related thoughts. Primarily, he had wanted, desperately if he was being honest, to know why his mate had run off. Could it have been Victor’s fame? His notoriety? Maybe his Omega did not want to be in the spot light. Was it his nationality? Russia was not particularly Omega friendly. Did his mate fear disclosure? Why had his mate needed to go to the infirmary? Did he get hurt? Or was it something else entirely?

The care staff had mournfully told him they were bound by law not to share confidential, private medical information with him. Not even a name or an address. Not even a dynamic, which was ridiculous, since Victor already knew his unclaimed, unofficial mate was an Omega. Everything about that day had caused him quite a few sleepless nights. The least he could do was try to understand his Omega’s point of view, and give his Omega the benefit of the doubt, even if his mate had run after that record-breaking skate.

“Ah,” Victor stalled, trying to come up with the simplest way to answer Michelle’s provocative question. “As I can only speak for myself and not for either Chris or the ISF, I would have to say that having all skaters on an even playing field is a good thing. Whether Alpha, Beta, or Omega, I want to be scored on my performance and not on my dynamic. That is as it should be. If we can do that, and not ostracize or discriminate against anyone for their own choice to disclose or not, I think we will be able to focus on the skating, and not how someone identifies.”

“Glad to see you have a good head on your shoulders, Victor. Nothing less from this year’s Men’s skating favorite! Thanks for talking with us, and good luck!”

“Thank you for having me, Morooka! Michelle.” Victor smiled his heart shaped smile at the Beta commentator. “I’ll be fighting for gold!” He waved to the cameras as the hosts closed out the segment.

After his little performance dancing for the cameras, Morooka tracked him down before he could get away completely.

“Victor,” the sports announcer called out to him. As much as the young Russian liked the man, he just wanted to get away from the crowds and wonder through Turin on his first trip to Italy before Yakov locked him in his room for ditching his coach before the event in Tokyo.

“Hi, Morooka,” Victor replied, wondering what his friend (can he call sportscaster a friend?) wanted.

“I just want to say, ‘sorry about Michelle.’ Since she stopped skating the only way for her to still feel involved in the skating community is to commentate and gossip,” Morooka confided. “I didn’t think she would bring up Tokyo after I told I wouldn’t ask.”

Victor smiled his public mask, trying not to let the sharp pain at the reminder of an empty examination room with the elusive smell of ice, sweet pea, and lemongrass surrounding him.

“It is alright, my friend,” he said instead. “I have had much more intrusive questions, and not just from nosey reporters,” Victor tried to laugh, but it hurt his heart.

“Just so you know, I don’t think anyone else will ask, either,” Morooka said compassionately as he placed an understanding hand on Victor’s shoulder. It made him wonder if the older man knew more than he was letting on.

“It does not matter,” Victor said with false cheer, his Russian accent thickening with his waning energy for the topic. “That was my only interview. If I win a medal, I do not think they will be asking about Tokyo.” Nor would he be thinking about it, Victor hoped.

“I meant it when I asked for the interview, Victor. I won’t ask you what happened, but from what it looked like, you were an Alpha looking for his lost mate,” the young Beta laughed, patting Victor’s taut shoulder before removing his arm slowly, considering. Victor must have given something away because the next thing the skating enthusiast said hit him hard. “You’ll find them one day, Victor. There’s no need to rush. Mate or no, you will be fine, just give yourself some time.”

Yes. Time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so supportive of my fight with evil writer's block! You guys are definitely the reason I have kept going! Your lovely comments feed my starved muse, and she is once again whispering in my ear!!
> 
> Fun facts:
> 
> The 2006 winter Olympics were held in Turin, Italy. I figured if Victor was 28 in 2017, and was 18 at the time of this story, then that would be the Olympics he would have participated in. ;)
> 
> Michelle Hamilton’s name is a mash up of Michelle Kwan and Scott Hamilton, two great skaters I grew up watching. They have nothing to do with my OC, who is a gossip monger – that, and she is just really bored in retirement.
> 
> The International Skating Union (ISU) is the real-world skating organization my ISF is based on. It was founded in 1892, making it “the oldest governing international winter sport federation,” according to their website!
> 
> All of the moves/skating stuff described throughout this story is based on research and watching tons of videos on YouTube. I am not an expert, so if I make a mistake, please let me know (nicely) so I can fix it! I swear I still can’t visually tell the difference between the six types of jumps, except that 3 use a top pick for the jump. These athletes are all so incredible!
> 
> Lastly, don't forget to check me out on tumbr under 'storylip.' I've been posting some Omegaverse lore for my world there. Feel free to chat with me or send me an Ask! I'd love to know what is drawing you into my world!
> 
> See you next time, when we catch up with Yuuri!


End file.
